THE  VAN  ROON 


IWIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AHGBLES 


By 

J.  C.  SNAITH 


THE  VAN  ROOM 

THE   COUNCIL   OF   SEVEN 

THE  ADVENTUROUS  LADY 

THE  UNDEFEATED 

THE  SAILOR 
THE  TIME  SPIRIT 

THE   COMING 
ANNE  FEVERSHAM 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 


THE  VAN  ROON 


BY 


J.    C.    SNAITH 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SAILOR/'  "THE  UNDEFEATED, 
"THE  COUNCIL  OF  SEVEN/'  ETC. 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  :  :  LONDON  :  :  MCMXXII 


COPYRIGHT,   1922,  BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,   1922,  by  the  Curtis  Publishing  Co. 
PRINTED  IN  THE   UNITED  STATES   OF  AMERICA 


THE  VAN  ROON 


2132889 


THE  VAN   ROON 


NORTH  of  the  Strand,  east  of  the  National  Gal- 
lery, a  narrow  street  winds  a  devious  course 
towards  Long  Acre.  To  the  casual  eye  it  is  no  more 
than  a  mean  and  dingy  thoroughfare  without  charm  or 
interest,  but  for  the  connoisseur  it  has  its  legend.  Here 
Swinburne  came  upon  his  famous  copy  of  "The  Faerie 
Queene" ;  here  more  than  one  collection  has  been  en- 
riched by  a  Crome,  a  Morland,  a  choice  miniature,  a 
first  proof  or  some  rare  unsuspected  article  of  bigotry 
and  virtue. 

On  the  right,  going  from  Charing  Cross,  halfway 
up  the  street,  a  shop,  outwardly  inconspicuous,  bears 
on  its  front  in  plain  gilt  letters  the  name  S.  Gedge, 
Antiques. 

A  regard  for  the  mot  juste  could  omit  the  final 
letter.  S.  Gedge  Antique  was  nearer  the  fact.  To 
look  at,  the  proprietor  of  the  business  was  an  an- 
tique of  the  most  genuine  kind,  whose  age,  before  he 
was  dressed  for  the  day,  might  have  been  anything. 
When,  however,  he  had  "tidied  himself  up"  to  sit  at 
the  receipt  of  a  custom,  a  process  involving  a  shave,  the 
putting  on  of  collar  and  dickey,  prehistoric  frock  coat, 
new  perhaps  for  the  Prince  Consort's  funeral,  and  a 
1 


2  THE   VAN   ROON 

pair  of  jemimas  that  also  were  "of  the  period,"  his 
years,  in  spite  of  a  yellow  parchment  countenance  of 
an  incredible  cunning,  could  at  conservative  estimate 
be  reckoned  as  seventy. 

On  a  certain  morning  of  September,  the  years  of  the 
proprietor  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  whatever  they  might 
be,  sat  heavily  upon  him.  Tall,  sombre,  gaunt,  a  cross 
between  a  hop-pole  and  a  moulting  vulture,  his  tattered 
dressing  gown  and  chessboard  slippers  lent  a  touch  of 
fantasy  to  his  look  of  eld,  while  the  collar  and  dickey 
of  commerce  still  adorned  the  back  kitchen  dresser. 

Philosophers  say  that  to  find  a  reason  for  everything 
is  only  a  question  of  looking.  The  reason  for  the  un- 
dress of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  so  late  as  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning  was  not  far  to  seek.  His  right  hand  man 
and  sole  assistant,  who  answered  to  the  name  of 
William,  and  who  was  never  known  or  called  by  any 
other,  had  been  away  for  an  annual  holiday  of  one 
week,  which  this  year  he  had  spent  in  Suffolk.  Hb  was 
due  back  in  the  course  of  that  day  and  his  master 
would  raise  a  paean  on  his  return.  In  the  absence  of 
William  the  indispensable  S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  like 
a  windjammer  on  a  lee  shore. 

There  was  a  further  reason  for  his  lost  air.  He 
was  "at  outs"  with  Mrs.  Runciman,  his  charwoman,  a 
state  of  affairs  which  had  long  threatened  to  become 
chronic.  An  old,  and  in  her  own  opinion,  an  under- 
valued retainer,  the  suspension  of  diplomatic  relations 
between  Mrs.  Runciman  and  her  employer  could 
always  be  traced  to  one  cause.  S.  Gedge  attributed  it 
to  the  phases  of  the  moon  and  their  effect  on  the  human 
female,  but  the  real  root  of  the  mischief  was  Mrs. 
Runciman's  demand  for  "a  raise  in  her  celery."  For 


THE   VAN    ROON  3 

many  years  past  the  lady  had  held  that  her  services 
were  worth  more  than  "half  a  crown  a  day  and  her 
grub."  The  invariable  reply  of  her  master  was  that 
he  had  never  paid  more  to  a  char  all  the  time  he  had 
been  in  trade  and  that  if  she  wanted  more  she  could 
keep  away.  This  Thursday  morning,  according  to 
precedent  when  matters  came  to  a  head,  Mrs.  Runci- 
man  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  The  old  man  knew, 
however,  that  her  absence  would  only  be  temporary. 
A  single  day  off  would  vindicate  the  rights  of  woman. 
As  sure  as  the  sun  rose  on  the  morrow  Mrs.  R.  would 
return  impenitent  but  in  better  fettle  for  charring.  But 
as  he  made  a  point  of  telling  her,  she  would  play  the 
trick  once  too  often. 

Char-less  for  the  time  being,  assistant-less  also,  this 
morning  S.  Gedge  was  not  only  looking  his  age,  he 
was  feeling  it;  but  he  had  already  begun  to  examine 
the  contents  of  a  large  packing  case  from  Ipswich 
which  Messrs.  Carter  Paterson  had  delivered  half  an 
hour  ago  at  the  back  of  the  premises  by  the  side  entry. 
Handicapped  as  S.  Gedge  Antiques  at  the  moment  was, 
'he  could  well  have  deferred  these  labours  until  later 
in  the  day.  Human  curiosity,  however,  had  claimed 
him  as  a  victim. 

By  a  side  wind  he  had  heard  of  a  sale  at  a  small  and 
rather  inaccessible  house  in  the  country  where  a  few 
things  might  be  going  cheap.  As  this  was  to  take  place 
in  the  course  of  William's  holiday,  the  young  man  had 
been  given  a  few  pounds  to  invest,  provided  that  in  his 
opinion  "the  goods  were  full  value."  By  trusting 
William  to  carry  out  an  operation  of  such  delicacy,  his 
master  whose  name  in  trade  circles  was  that  of  "a  very 
keen  buyer"  was  really  paying  him  the  highest  compli- 


4  THE   VAN    ROON 

merit  in  his  power.  For  the  god  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
was  money.  In  the  art  of  "picking  things  up,"  how- 
ever, William  had  a  lucky  touch.  His  master  could 
depend  as  a  rule  on  turning  over  a  few  shillings  on  each 
of  the  young  man's  purchases;  indeed  there  were  oc- 
casions when  the  few  shillings  had  been  many.  The 
truth  was  that  William's  flair  for  a  good  thing  was 
almost  uncanny. 

Adroit  use  of  a  screwdriver  prised  the  lid  off  the 
packing  case.  A  top  layer  of  shavings  was  removed. 
With  the  air  of  a  devot  the  old  man  dug  out  William's 
first  purchase  and  held  it  up  to  the  light  of  New  Cross 
Street,  or  to  as  much  of  that  dubious  commodity  as 
could  filter  down  the  side  entry. 

Purchase  the  first  proved  to  be  a  copy  of  an  engrav- 
ing by  P.  Bartolozzi :  the  Mrs.  Lumley  and  Her  Chil- 
dren of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  An  expert  eye  priced  it 
at  once  a  safe  thirty  shillings  in  the  window  of  the 
front  shop,  although  William  had  been  told  not  to  ex- 
ceed a  third  of  that  sum  at  Loseby  Grange,  Saxmund- 
ham.  So  far  so  good.  With  a  feeling  of  satisfaction 
S.  Gedge  laid  the  engraving  upon  a  chair  of  ornate  ap- 
pearance but  doubtful  authenticity,  and  proceeded  to 
remove  more  straw  from  the  packing  case.  Before, 
however,  he  could  deal  with  William's  second  pur- 
chase, whatever  it  might  be,  he  was  interrupted. 

A  voice  came  from  the  front  shop. 

"Uncle  Si !    Uncle  Si !    Where  are  you?" 

The  voice  was  feminine.  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  crusted 
bachelor  and  confirmed  hater  of  women,  felt  a  sudden 
pang  of  dismay. 

"Where  are  you,  Uncle  Si?" 

"Com-ming !"    A  low  roar  boomed  from  the  interior 


THE    VAN    ROON  5 

of  the  packing  case.  It  failed,  however,  to  get  beyond 
the  door  of  the  lumber  room. 

"That  girl  of  Abe's"  ruminated  the  old  man  deep  in 
straw.  In  the  stress  of  affairs,  he  had  almost  forgotten 
that  the  only  child  of  a  half  brother  many  years  his 
junior,  was  coming  to  London  by  the  morning  train. 

"Uncle  Si!" 

With  a  hiss  of  disgust  worthy  of  an  elderly  cobra  he 
writhed  his  head  free  of  the  straw.  "Confound  her, 
turning  up  like  this.  Why  couldn't  she  come  this  after- 
noon when  the  boy'd  be  home?  But  that's  a  woman. 
They're  born  as  cross  as  Christmas." 

A  third  time  his  name  was  called. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  unshaven,  beslippered,  bespec- 
tacled, slowly  emerged  from  the  decent  obscurity  of 
the  back  premises  into  the  fierce  publicity  of  the  front 
shop.  He  was  greeted  by  a  sight  of  which  his  every 
instinct 'profoundly  disapproved. 

The  sight  was  youthful,  smiling,  fresh  complexioned. 
In  a  weak  moment,  for  which  mentally  he  had  been 
kicking  himself  round  the  shop  ever  since,  he  had  been 
so  unwise  as  to  offer  to  adopt  this  girl  who  had  lost 
her  father  some  years  ago  and  had  lately  buried  her 
mother.  Carter  Paterson  had  delivered  her  trunk 
along  with  the  packing  case  from  Ipswich,  a  fact  he 
now  recalled. 

Had  S.  Gedge  had  an  eye  for  anything  but  antiques, 
he  must  have  seen  at  once  that  his  niece  was  by  way 
of  being  a  decidedly  attractive  young  woman.  She 
was  nineteen,  and  she  wore  a  neat  well-fitting  black 
dress  and  a  plain  black  hat  in  which  cunning  and  good 
taste  were  mingled.  Inclined  to  be  tall  she  was  slender 
and  straight  and  carried  herself  well.  Her  eyes  were 


6  THE   VAN    ROON 

clear,  shrewd  and  smiling.  In  fact  they  appeared  to 
smile  quite  considerably  at  the  slow  emergence  from 
the  back  premises  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 

In  the  girl's  hand  was  a  pilgrim  basket,  which  she 
put  carefully  on  a  gate-legged  table,  marked  "£4.19.6, 
a  great  bargain"  and  then  very  fearlessly  embraced  its 
owner. 

"How  are  you,  niece  ?"  gasped  the  old  man  who  felt 
that  an  affront  had  been  offered  to  the  dignity  of  the 
human  male. 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Si,  I'm  first  rate,"  said  the  girl 
trying  for  the  sake  of  good  manners  not  to  smile  too 
broadly. 

"HIad  a  comfortable  journey?" 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  you." 

"Didn't  expect  you  so  soon.  However,  your  box 
has  come.  By  the  way,  what's  your  name?  I've 
forgotten  it." 

"June." 

"June,  eh?  One  of  these  new  f angled  affairs,"  S. 
Gedge  spoke  aggrievedly.  "Why  not  call  yourself 
December  and  have  done  with  it  ?" 

"I  will  if  you  like,"  said  June  obligingly.  "But  it 
seems  rather  long.  Do  you  care  for  De,  Cem,  or  Ber 
for  short?" 

"It  don't  matter.  What's  in  a  name  ?  I  only  thought 
it  sounded  a  bit  sloppy  and  new  f  angled." 

The  eyes  of  June  continued  to  regard  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques with  a  demure  smile.  He  did  not  see  the  smile. 
He  only  saw  her  and  she  was  a  matter  for  grave 
reflection. 


II 

SGEDGE  ANTIQUES  peered  dubiously  at  his 
0  niece.  He  had  a  dislike  of  women  and  more 
than  any  other  kind  he  disliked  young  women.  But 
one  fact  was  already  clear;  he  had  let  himself  in  for 
it.  Frowning  at  this  bitter  thought  he  cast  his  mind 
back  in  search  of  a  reason.  Knowing  himself  so  well 
he  was  sure  that  a  reason  there  must  be  and  a  good  one 
for  so  grave  an  indiscretion.  Suddenly  he  remembered 
the  charwoman  and  his  brow  cleared  a  little. 

"Let  me  have  a  look  at  you,  niece."  As  a  hawk 
might  gaze  at  a  wren  he  gazed  at  June  through  his 
spectacles.  "Tall  and  strong  seemingly.  I  hope  you're 
not  afraid  of  hard  work." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  anything,  Uncle  Si,"  said  June 
with  calm  precision. 

"No  answers,"  said  S.  Gedge  curtly.  "If  you  intend 
to  stay  here  you've  got  to  mind  your  p's  and  q's  and 
you've  got  to  earn  your  keep."  He  sighed  and  impa- 
tiently plucked  the  spectacles  from  his  nose.  "Thought 
so,"  he  snarled.  "I'm  looking  at  you  with  my  selling 
spectacles.  For  this  job  I'll  need  my  buying  ones." 

Delving  into  the  capacious  pockets  of  his  dressing 
gown,  the  old  man  was  able  to  produce  a  second  pair 
of  glasses.  He  adjusted  them  grimly.  "Now  I  can 
begin  to  see  you.  Favour  your  father  seemingly.  And 
he  was  never  a  mucher — wasn't  your  father." 

"Dad  is  dead,  Uncle  Si."  There  was  reproof  in 
7 


8  THE    VAN    ROON 

June's  strong  voice.  "And  he  was  a  very  good  man. 
There  was  never  a  better  father  than  Dad." 

"Must  have  been  a  good  man.  He  hardly  left  you 
and  your  mother  the  price  of  his  funeral." 

"It  wasn't  Dad's  fault  that  he  was  unlucky  in  busi- 
ness." 

"Unlucky."  S.  Gedge  Antiques  gave  a  sharp  tilt  to 
his  "buying"  spectacles.  "I  don't  believe  in  luck 
myself." 

"Don't  you?"   said  June,  with  a  touch  of  defiance. 

"No  answers."  Uncle  Si  held  up  a  finger  of  warn- 
ing. "Your  luck  is  you're  not  afraid  of  work.  If 
you  stop  here  you'll  have  to  stir  yourself." 

June  confessed  a  modest  willingness  to  do  her  best. 

S.  Gedge  continued  to  gaze  at  her.  It  was  clear  that 
he  had  undertaken  an  immense  responsibility.  A  live 
sharp  girl,  nineteen  years  of  age,  one  of  these  modern 
hussies,  with  opinions  of  her  own,  was  going  to  alter 
things.  It  was  no  use  burking  the  fact,  but  a  wise  man 
would  have  looked  it  in  the  face  a  little  sooner. 

"The  char  is  taking  a  day  off,"  he  said,  breaking  this 
reverie.  "So  I'd  better  give  you  a  hand  with  your  box. 
You  can  then  change  your  frock  and  come  and  tidy  up. 
If  you  give  your  mind  to  your  job  I  daresay  I'll  be 
able  to  do  without  the  char  altogether.  The  woman's 
a  nuisance,  as  all  women  are.  But  she's  the  worst  kind 
of  a  nuisance,  and  I've  been  trying  to  be  quit  of  her 
any  time  this  ten  years." 

In  silence  June  followed  Uncle  Si  kitchenwards, 
slowly  removing  a  pair  of  black  kid  gloves  as  she  did 
so.  He  helped  her  to  carry  a  trunk  containing  all  her 
worldly  possessions  up  a  steep,  narrow,  twisty  flight  of 
uncarpeted  stairs  to  a  tiny  attic,  divided  by  a  wooden 


THE    VAN    ROON  9 

partition  from  a  larger  one,  and  lit  by  a  grimy  window 
in  the  roof.  It  was  provided  with  a  bedstead,  a  mat- 
tress, a  chest  of  drawers,  a  washing  stand  and  a  crazy 
looking-glass. 

"When  the  boy  comes,  he'll  find  you  a  couple  o' 
blankets,  I  daresay.  Meantime  you  can  fall  to  as  soon 
as  you  like." 

June  lost  no  time  in  unpacking.  She  then  exchanged 
her  new  mourning  for  an  old  dress  in  which  to  begin 
work.  As  she  did  so  her  depression  was  terrible.  The 
death  of  her  mother,  a  month  ago,  had  meant  the  loss 
of  everything  she  valued  in  the  world.  There  was  no 
one  else,  no  other  thing  that  mattered.  But  she  had 
promised  that  she  would  be  a  brave  girl  and  face  life 
with  a  stout  heart,  and  she  was  going  to  be  as  good 
as  her  word. 

For  that  reason  she  did  not  allow  herself  to  spend 
much  time  over  the  changing  of  her  dress.  She  would 
have  liked  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  small  bed  in  that 
dismal  room  and  weep.  The  future  was  an  abyss. 
Her  prospects  were  nil.  She  had  ambition,  but  she 
lacked  the  kind  of  education  and  training  that  could 
get  her  out  of  the  rut;  and  all  the  money  she  had  in 
the  world,  something  less  than  twenty  pounds,  was  in 
her  purse  in  a  roll  of  notes,  together  with  a  few  odd 
shillings  and  coppers.  Nothing  more  remained  of  the 
sum  that  had  been  realized  by  the  sale  of  her  home, 
which  her  mother  and  she  had  striven  so  hard  to  keep 
together.  And  when  this  was  gone  she  would  have 
to  live  on  the  charity  of  her  Uncle  Si,  who  was  said  to 
be  a  very  hard  man  and  for  whom  she  had  already  con- 
ceived an  odd  dislike,  or  go  out  and  find  something 
to  do. 


10  THE   VAN   ROON 

Such  an  outlook  was  grim.  But  as  June  put  on  an 
old  house  frock  she  shut  her  lips  tight  and  determined 
not  to  think  about  to-morrow.  Uncle  Si  had  told  her 
to  clean  out  the  grate  in  the  back  kitchen.  She  flattered 
herself  that  she  could  clean  out  a  grate  with  anybody. 
Merely  to  stop  the  cruel  ache  at  the  back  of  her  brain 
she  would  just  think  of  her  task,  and  nothing  else. 

In  about  ten  minutes  June  came  down  the  attic 
stairs,  fully  equipped  even  to  an  overall  which  she  had 
been  undecided  whether  to  pack  in  her  box  but  had 
prudently  done  so. 

"Where  are  the  brushes  and  dust  pan,  Uncle  Si?" 

"In  the  cupboard  under  the  scullery  sink."  A  growl 
emerged  from  the  packing  case,  followed  by  a  gargoyle 
head.  "And  when  you  are  through  with  the  kitchen 
grate  you  can  come  and  clear  up  this  litter,  and  then 
you  can  cook  a  few  potatoes  for  dinner — that's  if  you 
know  how." 

"Of  course  I  know  how,"  said  June. 

"Your  mother  seems  to  have  brought  you  up  prop- 
erly. If  you  give  your  mind  to  your  job  and  you're 
not  above  soiling  your  hands  I  quite  expect  we'll  be 
able  to  do  without  the  char." 

June,  her  large  eyes  fixed  on  Uncle  Si,  did  not  flinch 
from  the  prospect.  She  went  boldly,  head  high,  in  the 
direction  of  the  scullery  sink  while  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
proceeded  to  burrow  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  pack- 
ing case. 

Presently  he  dug  out  a  bowl  of  Lowestoft  china, 
which  he  tapped  with  a  finger-nail  and  held  up  to  the 
light. 

"It's  a  good  piece,"  he  reflected.  "There's  one  thing 
to  be  said  for  that  boy — he  don't  often  make  mistakes. 


THE    VAN    ROON  11 

I  wonder  what  he  paid  for  this.  However,  I  shall 
know  presently,"  and  S.  Gedge  placed  the  bowl  on  a 
chair  opposite  the  engraving  "after"  P.  Bartolozzi. 

His  researches  continued,  but  there  was  not  much  to 
follow.  Still,  that  was  to  be  expected.  William  had 
only  been  given  twenty  pounds  and  the  bowl  alone  was 
a  safe  fiver.  The  old  man  was  rather  sorry  that  Will- 
iam had  not  been  given  more  to  invest.  However, 
there  was  a  copper  coal-scuttle  that  might  be  polished 
up  to  fetch  three  pounds,  and  a  set  of  fire  irons  and 
other  odds  and  ends,  not  of  much  account  in  themselves, 
but  all  going  to  show  that  good  use  had  been  made  of 
the  money. 

"Niece,"  called  Uncle  Si  when  at  last  the  packing 
case  was  empty,  "come  and  give  a  hand  here." 

With  bright  and  prompt  efficiency  June  helped  to 
clear  up  the  debris  and  to  haul  the  packing  case  into 
the  backyard. 

The  old  man  said  at  the  successful  conclusion  of 
these  operations: 

"Now  see  what  you  can  do  with  those  potatoes.  Boil 
'em  in  their  skins.  There's  less  waste  that  way  and 
there's  more  flavour." 

"What  time  is  dinner,  Uncle  Si?" 

"One  o'clock  sharp." 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  having  put  on  his  collar,  and 
discarded  his  dressing  gown  for  the  frock  coat  of 
commerce,  shambled  forward  into  the  front  shop  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  no  time  to  waste  upon 
trivialities.  So  far  things  were  all  right.  The  girl 
seemed  willing  and  capable  and  he  hoped  she  would 
continue  to  be  respectful.  The  times  were  against  it, 
certainly.  In  the  present  era  of  short  skirts,  open-work 


12  THE   VAN    ROON 

stockings,  fancy  shoes  and  bare  necks,  it  was  hard, 
even  for  experts  like  himself,  to  say  what  the  world 
was  coming  to.  Girls  of  the  new  generation  were  ter- 
ribly independent.  They  would  sauce  you  as  soon  as 
look  at  you,  and  there  was  no  doubt  they  knew  far 
more  than  their  grandmothers.  In  taking  under  his 
roof  the  only  child  of  a  half-brother  who  had  died 
worth  precious  little,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  simply 
asking  for  trouble.  At  the  same  time  there  was  no 
need  to  deny  that  June  had  begun  well,  and  if  at  eight 
o'clock  the  next  morning  he  was  in  a  position  to  say, 
"Mrs.  R.  you  can  take  another  day  off  and  get  your- 
self a  better  billet,"  he  would  feel  a  happier  man. 

A  voice  with  a  ring  in  it  came  from  the  shop  thresh- 
old. "Uncle  Si,  how  many  potatoes  shall  I  cook?" 

"Three  middling  size.  One  for  me,  one  for  you, 
one  for  William  if  he  comes.  And  if  he  don't  come, 
he  can  have  it  cold  for  his  supper." 

"Or  I  can  fry  it,"  said  the  voice  from  the  threshold. 

"You  can  fry  it?"  S.  Gedge  peered  towards  the 
voice  over  the  top  of  his  "buying"  spectacles.  "Before 
we  go  in  for  fancy  work  let  us  see  what  sort  of  a  job 
you  make  of  a  plain  bilin'.  Pigs  mustn't  begin  to  fly 
too  early — not  in  the  West  Central  postal  district." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  pigs,"  said  June,  calmly, 
"but  I'll  boil  a  potato  with  anyone." 

"And  eat  one  too  I  expect,"  said  S.  Gedge  severely 
closuring  the  incident. 

The  axiom  he  had  just  laid  down  applied  to  young 
female  pigs  particularly. 


»  III 

SGEDGE  ANTIQUES,  feather  duster  in  hand, 
began  to  flick  pensively  a  number  of  articles  of 
bigotry  and  virtue.  The  occupation  amused  him.  It 
was  not  that  he  had  any  great  regard  for  the  things  he 
sold,  but  each  was  registered  in  his  mind  as  having 
been  bought  for  so  much  at  So-and-So's  sale.  A  thor- 
oughly competent  man  he  understood  his  trade.  He 
had  first  set  up  in  business  in  the  year  1879.  That  was 
a  long  time  ago,  but  it  was  his  proud  boast  that  he  had 
yet  to  make  his  first  serious  mistake.  Like  everyone 
else,  he  had  made  mistakes,  but  it  pleased  him  to  think 
that  he  had  never  been  badly  "let  in."  His  simple  rule 
was  not  to  pay  a  high  price  for  anything.  Sometimes 
he  missed  a  bargain  by  not  taking  chances,  but  bank- 
ing on  certainties  brought  peace  of  mind  and  a  steady 
growth  of  capital. 

Perhaps  the  worst  shot  he  had  ever  made  was  the 
queer  article  to  which  he  now  applied  the  duster.  A 
huge  black  jar,  about  six  feet  high  and  so  fantastically 
hideous  in  design  as  to  suggest  the  familiar  of  a  Carib- 
bean witch  doctor  or  the  joss  of  a  barbarous  king,  held 
a  position  of  sufficient  prominence  on  the  shop  floor 
for  his  folly  to  be  ever  before  him.  Years  ago  he  had 
taken  this  grinning,  wide-mouthed  monster,  shaped 
and  featured  like  Moloch,  in  exchange  for  a  bad  debt, 
hoping  that  in  the  course  of  time  he  would  be  able  to 
trade  it  away.  As  yet  he  had  not  succeeded.  Few  peo- 
ple apparently  had  a  use  for  such  an  evil-looking  thing 
which  took  up  so  much  house  room.  S.  Gedge  An- 

13 


14  THE   VAN    ROOM 

tiques  was  loth  to  write  it  off  a  dead  loss,  but  he  had 
now  come  to  regard  it  as  "a  hoodoo."  He  was  not  a 
superstitious  man  but  he  declared  it  brought  bad  luck. 
On  several  occasions  when  a  chance  seemed  to  arise 
of  parting  with  it  to  advantage,  something  had  hap- 
pened to  the  intending  purchaser ;  indeed  it  would  have 
called  for  no  great  effort  of  the  imagination  to  believe 
that  a  curse  was  upon  it. 

By  an  association  of  ideas,  as  the  feathers  flicked 
that  surface  of  black  lacquer,  the  mind  of  S.  Gedge 
reverted  to  his  niece.  She,  too,  was  a  speculation,  a 
leap  in  the  dark.  You  never  knew  where  you  were 
with  women.  Now  that  the  fools  in  Parliament  had 
given  females  a  vote  the  whole  sex  was  demoralised. 
He  had  been  terribly  rash;  and  he  could  tell  by  the 
look  of  the  girl  that  she  had  a  large  appetite.  Still  if 
he  could  do  without  "that  woman"  it  would  be  some- 
thing. 

The  picture,  however,  was  not  all  dark.  A  flick  of 
the  feathers  emphasised  its  brighter  side  as  William  re- 
purred  suddenly  to  his  mind.  Taking  all  things  into 
account,  he  was  ready  to  own  that  the  able  youth  was 
the  best  bargain  he  had  ever  made.  Some  years  ago, 
William,  a  needy  lad  of  unknown  origin,  had  been  en- 
gaged at  a  very  small  wage  to  run  errands  and  to  make 
himself  of  general  use.  Finding  him  extremely  intelli- 
gent and  possessed  of  real  aptitude,  his  master  with  an 
eye  to  the  future,  had  taught  him  the  trade.  And  he 
had  now  become  so  knowledgeable  that  for  some  little 
time  past  he  had  been  promoted  to  an  active  part  in  the 
business. 

If  William  had  a  fault  it  was  that  in  his  master's 
opinion  he  was  almost  too  honest.  Had  it  been  human- 


THE   VAN   ROON  15 

ly  possible  for  S.  Gedge  Antiques  to  trust  any  man 
with  a  thousand  pounds,  William  undoubtedly  would 
have  been  that  man.  Besides,  he  had  grown  so  expert 
that  his  employer  was  learning  to  rely  more  and  more 
upon  his  judgment.  The  time  had  come  when  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  had  need  of  young  eyes  in  the  most  delicate 
art  of  choosing  the  right  thing  to  buy ;  and  this  abso- 
lutely dependable  young  man  had  now  taken  rank  in 
his  master's  mind,  perhaps  in  a  higher  degree  than  that 
master  recognised,  as  an  asset  of  priceless  value. 
Sooner  or  later,  if  William  went  on  in  his  present  way, 
the  long-deferred  rise  in  his  wages  would  have  to  enter 
the  region  of  practical  politics.  For  example,  there 
was  this  packing-case  from  Ipswich.  Without  indul- 
gence in  flagrant  optimism — and  the  old  man  was  sel- 
dom guilty  of  that — there  was  a  clear  profit  already  in 
sight.  The  bowl  of  Lowestoft  might  fetch  anything 
up  to  ten  pounds  and  even  then  it  would  be  "a  great 
bargain  at  clearance  sale  prices."  Then  there  was  the 
engraving.  William  had  a  nose  for  such  things ;  indeed 
his  master  often  wondered  how  a  young  chap  with  no 
education  to  speak  of  could  have  come  by  it. 

At  this  point  there  was  heard  a  quiet  and  respectful: 
"Good  morning,  sir." 

S.  Gedge,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  shop  door, 
the  china  bowl  again  in  hand,  was  taken  by  surprise. 
William  was  not  expected  before  the  afternoon. 

That  young  man  was  rather  tall  and  rather  slight; 
he  was  decidedly  brown  from  the  sun  of  East  Anglia; 
and  some  people  might  have  considered  him  handsome. 
In  his  left  hand  he  carried  a  small  gladstone  bag.  And 
beneath  his  right  arm  was  an  article  wrapped  in  brown 
paper. 


16  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Ah,  that's  the  bowl,"  said  William  eagerly.  "A  nice 
piece,  sir,  isn't  it?" 

"I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  more  about  that,"  the 
cautious  answer,  "when  I  know  what  you  gave  for  it." 

William  had  given  thirty  shillings. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  tapped  the  bowl  appraisingly. 
"Thirty  shillings !  But  that's  money." 

"I'm  sure  it's  a  good  piece,  sir." 

"Well,  you  may  be  right,"  said  S.  Gedge  grudging- 
ly. "Lowestoft  is  fetching  fair  prices  just  now. 
What's  that  under  your  arm?" 

"It's  something  I've  bought  for  myself,  sir." 

"Out  of  the  money  I  gave  you?"  said  the  old  man 
as  keen  as  a  goshawk. 

"No,  sir,"  said  William  with  great  simplicity.  "Your 
money  was  all  in  the  packing  case.  I'll  give  you  an 
account  of  every  penny." 

"Well,  what's  the  thing  you've  bought  for  yourself," 
said  the  master  sternly. 

"It's  a  small  picture  I  happened  to  come  across  in 
an  old  shop  at  Crowdham  Market." 

"Picture,  eh?"  S.  Gedge  Antiques  dubiously 
scratched  a  scrub  of  whisker  with  the  nail  of  his  fore- 
finger. "Don't  fancy  pictures  myself.  Chancey  things 
are  pictures.  Never  brought  me  much  luck.  However, 
I'll  have  a  look  at  it.  Take  off  the  paper." 

William  took  off  the  paper  and  handed  to  his  master 
the  article  it  had  contained.  With  a  frown  of  petulant 
disgust  the  old  man  held  an  ancient  and  dilapidated 
daub  up  to  the  light.  So  black  it  was  with  grime  and 
age  that  to  his  failing  eyes  not  so  much  as  a  hint  of  the 
subject  was  visible. 

"Nothing  to  write  home  about  anyhow,"  was  the 


THE    VAN    ROON  17 

sour  comment.  ""Worth  nothing  beyond  the  price  of 
the  frame.  And  I  should  put  that" — S.  Gedge  pursed 
a  mouth  of  professional  knowledge — "at  five  shill- 
ings." 

"Five  shillings,  sir,  is  what  I  paid  for  it." 

"Not  worth  bringing  home."  S.  Gedge  shook  a 
dour  head.  Somehow  he  resented  his  assistant  mak- 
ing a  private  purchase,  but  that  may  have  been  because 
there  was  nothing  in  the  purchase  when  made.  "Why 
buy  a  thing  like  that  ?" 

William  took  the  picture  gravely  from  his  master 
and  held  it  near  the  window. 

"I  have  an  idea,  sir,  there  may  be  a  subject  under- 
neath." 

"Don't  believe  in  ideas  myself,"  snapped  S.  Gedge, 
taking  a  microscope  from  the  counter.  After  a  brief 
use  of  it  he  added,  "There  may  be  a  bit  o'  badly  painted 
still  life,  but  what's  the  good  o'  that." 

"I've  a  feeling,  sir,  there's  something  below  it." 

"Rubbish  anyhow.  It'll  be  a  fortnight's  job  to  get 
the  top  off  and  then  like  as  not  you'll  have  wasted  your 
time.  Why  buy  a  pig  in  a  poke  when  you  might  have 
invested  your  five  shillings  in  a  bit  more  china?  How- 
ever, it's  no  affair  of  mine." 

"There's  something  there,  sir,  under  those  flowers, 
I  feel  sure,"  said  the  young  man  taking  up  the  micro- 
scope and  gazing  earnestly  at  the  picture.  "But  what 
it  is  I  can't  say." 

"Nor  can  anyone  else.  However,  as  I  say,  it's  your 
funeral.  In  our  trade  there's  such  a  thing  as  being  too 
speculative,  and  don't  forget  it,  boy." 

"I  might  find  a  thing  worth  having,  sir,"  William 
ventured  to  say. 


18  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Pigs  might  fly,"  snapped  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  his 
favourite  formula  for  clinching  an  argument. 

The  mention  of  pigs,  no  doubt  again  by  an  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  enabled  S.  Gedge  to  notice,  which  he 
might  have  done  any  time  for  two  minutes  past,  that 
his  niece  had  emerged  from  the  back  premises,  and 
that  she  was  regarding  William  and  the  picture  with 
frank  curiosity. 

"Well,  niece,"  said  the  old  man  sharply.  "What  do 
you  want  now?" 

"Is  the  cold  mutton  in  the  larder  for  dinner,  Uncle 
Si  ?"  said  June  with  a  slight  but  becoming  blush  at  be- 
ing called  upon  to  speak  in  the  presence  of  such  a  very 
nice  looking  young  man. 

"What  else  do  you  think  we  are  going  to  have? 
Truffles  in  aspic  or  patty  de  four  grass?" 

"No,  Uncle  Si,"  said  June  gravely. 

"Very  well  then,"  growled  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 


IV 

IT  was  not  until  the  evening,  after  tea,  when  S. 
Gedge  Antiques  had  gone  by  bus  to  Clerkenwell  in 
order  to  buy  a  Queen  Anne  sofa  from  a  dealer  in  diffi- 
culties that  William  and  June  really  became  known  to 
one  another.  Before  then,  however,  their  respective 
presences  had  already  charged  the  atmosphere  of  No. 
46  New  Cross  Street  with  a  rare  and  subtle  quality. 

William,  even  at  a  first  glance,  had  been  intrigued 
more  than  a  little  by  the  appearance  of  the  niece.  To 
begin  with  she  was  a  great  contrast  to  Mrs.  Runciman. 
She  looked  as  clean  and  bright  as  a  new  pin,  she  had 
beautiful  teeth,  her  hair  was  of  the  kind  that  artists 
want  to  paint  and  her  way  of  doing  it  was  cunning. 
Moreover,  she  was  as  straight  as  a  willow,  her  move- 
ments had  charm  and  grace,  and  her  eyes  were  grey. 
And  beyond  all  else  her  smile  was  full  of  friendship. 

As  for  June,  her  first  thought  had  been,  when  she 
had  unexpectedly  come  upon  William  holding  up  to 
the  light  the  picture  he  had  bought  at  Crowdham  Mar- 
ket, that  the  young  man  had  an  air  at  once  very  gentle 
and  very  nice.  And  in  the  first  talk  they  had  together 
in  the  course  of  that  evening,  during  the  providential 
absence  of  Uncle  Si,  this  view  of  William  was  fully 
confirmed. 

He  was  very  gentle  and  he  was  very  nice. 

The  conversation  began  shortly  after  seven  o'clock 
when  William  had  put  up  the  shutters  and  locked  the 
door  of  the  shop.  It  was  he  who  opened  the  ball. 
19 


20  THE   VAN    ROON 

"You've  come  to  stay,  Miss  Gedge,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  June,  "if  I  can  make  myself  useful  to 
Uncle  Si." 

"But  aren't  you  adopted?  The  master  said  a  fort- 
night ago  he  was  going  to  adopt  you." 

"Uncle  Si  says  I'm  half  and  half  at  present,"  said 
June  demurely.  "I'm  a  month  on  trial.  If  I  suit  his 
ways  he  says  I  can  stay,  but  if  I  don't  I  must  get  after 
a  job." 

"I  hope  you  will  stay,"  said  William  with  obvious 
sincerity. 

There  was  enough  Woman  in  the  heart  of  the  niece 
of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  to  cause  her  to  smile  to  herself. 
This  was  a  perfect  Simple  Simon  of  a  fellow,  yet  she 
could  not  deny  that  there  was  something  about  him 
which  gave  her  quite  a  thrill. 

"Why  do  you  hope  so?"  asked  Woman,  with  seem- 
ing innocence. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  do,  unless  it  is  that  you  are  so 
perfectly  nice  to  talk  to."  And  the  Simpleton  grew 
suddenly  red  at  his  own  immoderation. 

Woman  in  her  cardinal  aspect  might  have  said 
"Really"  in  a  tone  of  ice;  she  might  even  have  been 
tempted  to  ridicule  such  a  statement  made  by  such  a 
young  man;  but  Woman  in  the  shrewdly  perceptive 
person  of  June  was  now  aware  that  this  air  of  quaint 
sincerity  was  a  thing  with  which  no  girl  truly  wise 
would  dare  to  trifle.  William  was  William  and  must 
be  treated  accordingly. 

"Aren't  you  very  clever?" 

She  knew  he  was  clever,  but  for  a  reason  she  couldn't 
divine  she  was  anxious  to  let  him  know  that  she  knew 
it. 


THE   VAN    ROON  21 

"I  don't  think  I  am  at  all." 

"But  you  are,"  said  June.  "You  must  be  very  clever 
indeed  to  go  about  the  country  buying  rare  things  cheap 
for  Uncle  Si  to  sell." 

"Oh,  anybody  can  pick  up  a  few  odds  and  ends  now 
and  again  if  one  has  been  given  the  money  to  buy 
them." 

"Anybody  couldn't.    I  couldn't  for  one." 

"Isn't  that  because  you've  not  been  brought  up  to 
the  business?" 

"It's  more  -than  that,"  said  June  shrewdly.  "You 
must  have  a  special  gift  for  picking  up  things  of 
value." 

"I  may  have,"  the  young  man  modestly  allowed. 
"The  master  trusts  me  as  a  rule  to  tell  whether  a  thing 
is  genuine." 

June  pinned  him  with  her  eyes.  "Then  tell  me  this." 
Her  suddenness  took  him  completely  by  surprise.  "Is 
he  genuine?" 

"Who?     The  master!" 

"Yes— Uncle  Si." 

The  answer  came  without  an  instant's  hesitation. 
"Yes,  Miss  June,  he  is.  The  master  is  a  genuine 
piece." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  June  with  a  slight 
frown. 

"Yes,  the  master  is  genuine."  Depth  and  conviction 
were  in  the  young  man's  tone.  "In  fact,"  he  added 
slowly,  "you  might  say  he  is  a  museum  piece." 

At  this  solemnity  June  smiled. 

"He's  a  very  good  man."  A  warmth  of  affection 
fused  the  simple  words.  "Why  he  took  me  from  down 


22  THE   VAN    ROON 

there  as  you  might  say."     William  pointed  to  the 
ground.    "And  now  I'm  his  assistant." 

"At  how  much  a  week,"  said  the  practical  June,  "if 
the  question  isn't  rude?" 

"I  get  fifteen  shillings." 

"A  week?" 

"Yes.    And  board  and  lodging." 

She  looked  the  young  man  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "You 
are  worth  more." 

"If  the  master  thinks  I'm  worth  more,  he'll  give  it 
to  me." 

June  pursed  her  lips  and  shook  a  dubious  head.  Evi- 
dently she  was  not  convinced. 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  sure  he  will.  In  fact,  he's  promised 
to  raise  my  wages  half  a  crown  from  the  first  of  the 
new  year." 

"I  should  just  think  so !"  said  June  looking  him  still 
in  the  eyes. 

"Of  course  I  always  get  everything  found." 

"What  about  your  clothes?" 

With  an  air  of  apology  he  had  to  own  that  clothes 
were  not  included ;  yet  to  offset  this  reluctant  admission 
he  laid  stress  on  the  fact  that  his  master  had  taught 
him  all  that  he  knew. 

June  could  not  resist  a  frown.  Nice  as  he  was,  she 
would  not  have  minded  shaking  him  a  little.  No  Simon 
had  a  right  to  be  quite  so  simple  as  this  one. 

A  pause  followed.  And  then  the  young  man  sud- 
denly said:  "Miss  June  would  you  care  to  see  some- 
thing I  bought  the  other  day  at  Crowdham  Market?" 

"I'd  love  to,"  said  the  gracious  Miss  June.  She 
had  seen  'the  something'  already  but  just  now  she  was 
by  no  means  averse  from  having  another  look  at  it. 


THE   VAN   ROON  23 

"Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  coming  up  to  the 
studio."  William  laughed  shyly.  "I  call  it  that,  al- 
though of  course  it  isn't  a  studio  really.  And  I  only 
call  it  that  to  myself  you  know,"  he  added  naively. 

"Then  why  did  you  call  it  'the  studio'  to  me?"  archly 
demanded  Woman  in  the  person  of  the  niece  of  S. 
Gedge  Antiques. 

"I  don't  know  why,  I'm  sure.     It  was  silly." 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  said  Woman.  "Rather  nice  of  you, 
I  think." 

The  simpleton  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  thick  and 
waving  chestnut  hair  which  was  brushed  back  from  a 
high  forehead  in  a  most  becoming  manner;  and  then 
with  rare  presence  of  mind,  in  order  to  give  his  con- 
fusion a  chance,  he  showed  the  way  up  the  two  flights 
of  stairs  which  led  direct  to  June's  attic.  Next  to  it, 
with  only  a  thin  wall  dividing  them,  was  a  kind  of  ex- 
tension of  her  own  private  cubicle,  a  fairly  large  and 
well  lit  room,  which  its  occupant  had  immodestly  called 
"a  studio."  A  bed,  a  washing  stand,  and  a  chest  of 
drawers  were  tucked  away  in  a  far  corner,  as  if  they 
didn't  belong. 

"The  master  lets  me  have  this  all  to  myself  for  the 
sake  of  the  light,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  happy  voice 
as  he  threw  open  the  door.  "One  needs  a  good  light 
to  work  by." 

With  the  air  of  a  Leonardo  receiving  a  lady  of  the 
Colonnas  he  ushered  her  in. 

A  feminine  eye  embraced  all  at  a  glance.  The  walls 
of  bare  whitewash  bathed  in  the  glories  of  an  autumn 
sunset,  the  clean  skylight,  the  two  easels  with  rather 
dilapidated  objects  upon  them,  a  litter  of  tools  and  can- 


24  THE   VAN    ROON 

vases  and  frames,  a  pervading  odour  of  turpentine, 
and  a  look  of  rapture  upon  the  young  man's  face. 

"But  it  is  a  studio,"  said  June.  Somehow  she  felt 
greatly  impressed  by  it.  "I've  never  seen  one  before, 
but  it's  just  like  what  one  reads  about  in  books." 

"Oh,  no,  a  studio  is  where  pictures  are  painted.  Here 
they  are  only  cleaned  and  restored." 

"One  day  perhaps  you'll  paint  them." 

"Perhaps  I  will ;  I  don't  know."  He  sighed  a  little, 
too  shy  to  confess  his  dream.  "But  that  day's  a  long 
way  off." 

"It  mayn't  be,  you  know." 

He  had  begun  already  to  try,  but  as  yet  it  was  a 
secret  from  the  world.  " Ars  est  celare  artem,"  he 
said. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"Life  is  short,  art  eternal.  It  is  the  motto  of  the  old 
man  who  teaches  me  how  to  clean  and  renovate  these 
things.  He  says  it  keeps  him  up  to  his  work." 

"You  go  to  an  art  school  ?" 

"I  should  hardly  call  it  that.  But  the  master  wants 
me  to  learn  as  much  as  I  can  of  the  practical  side  of 
the  trade,  so  he's  having  me  taught.  And  the  more  I 
can  pick  up  about  pictures,  the  better  it  will  be  for  the 
business.  You  see,  the  master  doesn't  pretend  to  know 
much  about  pictures  himself.  His  line  is  furniture." 

"Didn't  I  say  you  were  clever  ?"  June  could  not  help 
feeling  a  little  proud  of  her  own  perception. 

"You  wouldn't  say  that" — the  young  man's  tone  was 
sad — "if  you  really  knew  how  little  I  know.  But  allow 
me  to  show  you  what  I  bought  at  Crowdham  Market. 
There  it  is."  He  pointed  to  the  old  picture  on  the 
smaller  easel,  which  now  divorced  from  its  frame 


THE    VAN    ROON  25 

seemed  to  June  a  mere  daub,  black,  dilapidated,  old  and 
worthless. 

She  could  not  conceal  her  disappointment.  "I  don't 
call  that  anything." 

"No!"  He  could  not  conceal  his  disappointment 
either.  "Take  this  glass."  A  microscope  was  handed 
to  her.  "Please  look  at  it  ve-ry  ve-ry  closely  while  I 
hold  it  for  you  in  the  light." 

June  gave  the  canvas  a  most  rigorous  scrutiny,  but 
she  had  to  own  at  last  that  the  only  thing  she  could  see 
was  dirt. 

"Can't  you  see  water?" 

"Where?" 

With  his  finger  nail  the  young  man  found  water. 

"No,"  said  June  stoutly.  "I  don't  see  a  single  drop. 
And  that's  a  pity,  because  in  my  opinion,  it  would  be 
none  the  worse  for  a  good  wash." 

This  was  a  facer  but  he  met  it  valiantly. 

"Don't  you  see  trees?" 

"Where  are  the  trees?" 

The  young  man  disclosed  trees  with  his  finger  nail. 

"I  can't  see  a  twig." 

"But  you  can  see  a  cloud."  With  his  finger  nail  he 
traced  a  cloud. 

"I  only  see  dirt  and  smudge,"  said  June  the  down- 
right. "To  my  mind  this  isn't  a  picture  at  all." 

"Surely,  you  can  see  a  windmill  ?" 

"A  windmill !    Why  there's  not  a  sign  of  one." 

"Wait  till  it's  really  clean,"  said  William  with  the 
optimism  of  genius.  He  took  up  a  knife  and  began 
delicately  to  scrape  that  dark  surface  from  which  al- 
ready he  had  half  removed  a  top  layer  of  paint  that 
some  inferior  artist  had  placed  there. 


26  THE    VAN    ROON 

June  shook  her  head.  There  was  a  lovely  fall  in  the 
young  man's  voice  but  it  would  take  more  than  that  to 
convince  her.  She  believed  her  eyes  to  be  as  good  as 
most  people's,  but  even  with  a  microscope  and  Will- 
iam's finger  to  help  them  they  could  see  never  a  sign 
of  a  cloud  or  so  much  as  a  hint  of  water.  As  for  a  tree ! 
.  .  .  and  a  windmill!  .  .  .  either  this  handsome 
young  man  ...  he  really  was  handsome  .  .  . 
had  a  sense  that  ordinary  people  had  not  ...  or 
or  .  .! 


JUNE  suddenly  remembered  that  she  must  go  and 
lay  the  supper. 

William  modestly  asked  to  be  allowed  to  help. 

"Can  you  lay  supper?"  Polite  the  tone,  but  June 
was  inclined  to  think  that  here  was  the  limit  to  Will- 
iam's cleverness. 

"Oh,  yes,  Miss  June,  I  lay  it  nearly  always.  It's  part 
of  my  work." 

"Glad  of  your  help,  of  course."  The  tone  was  gra- 
cious. "But  I  daresay  you'd  like  to  go  on  looking  for 
a  windmill." 

"Yes,  I  think  perhaps  I  would."  It  was  not  quite 
the  answer  of  diplomacy,  but  behind  it  was  a  weight  of 
sincerity  that  took  away  the  sting. 

"Thought  so,"  said  June,  with  a  dark  smile.  It 
would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  had  the  help  of  this 
accomplished  young  man,  but  above  all  things  she  was 
practical  and  so  understood  that  the  time  of  such  a 
one  must  be  of  great  value. 

"But  I'm  thinking  you'll  have  to  look  some  while 
for  that  windmill,"  she  said,  trying  not  to  be  satirical. 

"The  windmill  I'll  not  swear  to,  but  I'm  sure  there's 
water  and  trees ;  although,  of  course,  it  may  take  some 
time  to  find  them."  William  took  up  a  piece  of  cotton 
wool.  "But  we'll  see." 

27 


28  THE   VAN    ROON 

He  moistened  the  wool  with  a  solvent,  which  he  kept 
in  a  bottle,  a  mysterious  compound  of  vegetable  oils 
and  mineral  water ;  and  then,  not  too  hard,  he  began  to 
rub  the  surface  of  the  picture. 

"I  hope  we  shall,"  said  June,  doubtfully.  And  she 
went  downstairs  with  an  air  of  scepticism  she  was 
unable  to  hide. 

Supper,  in  the  main,  was  an  affair  of  bread  and 
cheese  and  a  jug  of  beer,  drawn  from  the  barrel  in  the 
larder.  It  was  not  taken  until  a  quarter  past  nine  when 
S.  Gedge  Antiques  had  returned  from  Clerkenwell. 
The  old  man  was  in  quite  a  good  humour ;  in  fact,  it 
might  be  said,  to  verge  upon  the  expansive.  He  had 
managed  to  buy  the  Queen  Anne  sofa  for  four  pounds. 

"You've  got  a  bargain,  sir,"  said  William.  It  was 
William  who  had  discovered  the  sofa,  and  had  strongly 
advised  its  purchase. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  his  master,  who 
would  have  been  vastly  disappointed  had  there  been 
reason  to  think  that  he  had  not  got  a  bargain. 

After  supper,  when  the  old  man  had  put  on  his  slip- 
pers and  an  ancient  smoking  cap  that  made  him  look 
like  a  Turkish  pasha,  he  took  from  the  chimneypiece 
a  pipe  and  a  jar  of  tobacco,  drew  the  easy  chair  to  the 
fire,  and  began  to  read  the  evening  paper. 

"By  the  way,  boy,"  he  remarked,  quizzingly,  "have 
you  started  yet  on  that  marvellous  thing  you  were 
clever  enough  to  buy  at  Ipswich?" 

"Crowdham  Market,  sir." 

"Crowdham  Market,  was  it  ?  Well,  my  father  used 
to  say  that  fools  and  money  soon  part  company." 

June,  who  was  clearing  the  table,  could  not  forbear 


THE   VAN   ROON  29 

from  darting  at  the  young  man  a  gleam  of  triumph. 
It  was  clear  that  Uncle  Si  believed  no  more  in  the  wind- 
mill, not  to  mention  the  trees  and  the  water  than  did 
she. 

A  start  had  been  made,  but  William  confessed  to  a 
fear  that  it  might  be  a  long  job  to  get  it  clean. 

"And  when  you  get  it  clean,"  said  his  master,  "what 
do  you  expect  to  find,  eh? — that's  if  you're  lucky 
enough  to  find  anything." 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  said  William  frankly. 

"Neither  do  I,"  S.  Gedge  Antiques  scratched  a  cheek 
of  rather  humorous  cynicism.  And  then  in  sheer  ex- 
pansion of  mood,  he  went  to  the  length  of  winking  at 
his  niece.  "Perhaps,  boy,"  he  said,  "you'll  find  that 
Van  Roon  that  was  cut  out  of  its  frame  at  the  Louvre 
in  the  Nineties,  and  has  never  been  seen  or  heard  of 
since." 

"Was  there  one,  sir?"  asked  William,  interested  and 
alert. 

The  old  man  took  up  the  evening  paper,  and  began  to 
read.  "Canvas  sixteen  inches  by  twelve — just  about 
your  size,  eh?  One  of  the  world's  masterpieces.  Large 
reward  for  recovery  been  on  offer  for  more  than  twen- 
ty-five years  by  French  Government — but  not  claimed 
yet  seemingly.  Said  to  be  finest  Van  Roon  in  exist- 
ence. Now's  your  chance,  boy."  A  second  time  S. 
Gedge  Antiques  winked  at  his  niece ;  and  then  folding 
back  the  page  of  the  Evening  News,  he  handed  it  to 
William,  with  the  air  of  a  very  sly  dog  indeed.  "See 
for  yourself.  Special  article.  Mystery  of  Famous 
Missing  Picture.  When  you  find  the  signature  of 
Mynheer  Van  Roon  in  the  corner  of  this  masterpiece 


30  THE   VAN   ROON 

of  yours,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you're  able  to  set  up 
in  business  for  yourself." 

Allowing  Fancy  a  loose  rein  in  this  benign  hour, 
the  old  man,  for  the  third  time  honoured  his  niece  with 
a  solemn  wink. 


VI 

THE  next  morning  saw  the  beginning  of  a  chain 
of  epoch-making  events  in  the  history  of  S. 
Gedge  Antiques. 

Shortly  before  eight  o'clock  Mrs.  Runciman  turned 
up  as  usual  after  her  day  off.  With  a  most  business- 
like promptitude,  however,  she  was  given  her  quietus. 
In  dispensing  with  her  services,  from  now  on,  Uncle 
Si  took  a  real  pleasure  in  what  he  called  "telling  her 
off."  Many  times  had  he  warned  her  that  she  would 
play  the  trick  once  too  often.  And  now  that  his  proph- 
ecy had  come  true,  he  was  able  to  say  just  what  he 
thought  of  her,  of  her  ancestry,  and  of  her  sex  in 
general.  She  would  greatly  oblige  him  by  not  letting 
him  see  her  face  again. 

Mrs.  Runciman,  for  her  part,  professed  a  cheerful 
willingness  to  take  her  late  employer  at  his  word. 
There  was  plenty  of  work  to  be  had ;  and  she  departed 
on  a  note  of  dignity  which  she  sustained  by  informing 
him  in  a  voice  loud  enough  for  the  neighbours  to  hear 
that  "he  was  a  miser,  and  a  screw,  and  that  he  would 
skin  a  flea  for  its  feathers." 

On  the  top  if  this  ukase  to  the  char,  the  old  man  held 
a  short  private  conversation  with  his  niece.  June  had 
begun  very  well;  and  if  she  continued  to  behave  her- 
self, got  up  in  the  morning  without  being  called,  was 
not  afraid  of  hard  work,  and  had  the  breakfast  ready 
by  a  quarter  to  eight  she  would  receive,  in  addition  to 
31 


32  THE    VAN    ROON 

board  and  lodging,  two  shillings  a  week  pocket  money, 
and  perhaps  a  small  present  at  Christmas. 

As  far  as  it  went  this  was  very  well.  "But,"  said 
June,  "there's  my  clothes,  Uncle  Si." 

"Clothes!"  The  old  man  scratched  his  cheek. 
"You've  money  of  your  own,  haven't  you?" 

"Only  twenty  pounds." 

"We'll  think  about  clothes  when  the  time  comes  to 
buy  some." 

S.  Gedge,  however,  admitted  to  William  privately 
that  he  had  hopes  of  the  niece.  "But  let  me  tell  you 
this,  boy:  it's  asking  for  trouble  to  have  a  young  fe- 
male sleeping  in  the  house.  Old  ones  are  bad  enough, 
even  when  they  sleep  out ;  young  ones  sleeping  in  may 
be  the  very  mischief." 

In  fact,  the  old  man  deemed  it  wise  to  reinforce 
these  observations  with  a  solemn  warning.  "Under- 
stand, boy,  there  must  be  no  carrying  on  between  you 
and  her." 

"Carrying  on,  sir!"  Such  innocence  might  have 
touched  the  heart  of  King  Herod. 

"That's  what  I  said.  I  can  trust  you ;  in  some  ways 
you  hardly  know  you're  born;  but  with  a  woman,  and 
a  young  one  at  that,  it's  another  pair  o'  shoes.  Women 
are  simply  the  devil." 

William's  blank  face  showed  a  fleck  of  scarlet;  yet 
the  true  inwardness  of  these  Menander-like  words  were 
lost  upon  him ;  and  he  was  rebuked  for  being  a  perfect 
fool  in  things  that  mattered.  However,  the  arrange- 
ment was  merely  temporary.  If  the  girl  behaved  her- 
self, well  and  good;  if  she  didn't  behave  herself,  niece 
or  no  niece,  she  would  have  to  go.  But — touching 
wood ! — there  was  nothing  to  complain  of  so  far. 


THE   VAN    ROON  3J 

William  quite  agreed,  yet  he  dare  not  say  as  much 
to  his  master.  In  his  opinion,  there  was  no  ground  for 
comparison  between  the  dethroned  goddess  of  whom 
he  had  always  been  a  little  in  awe,  and  the  creature  of 
grace  and  charm,  of  fine  perception  and  feminine 
amenity  who  slept  the  other  side  the  "studio"  wall. 
For  all  that,  in  the  sight  of  this  young  man,  one  aspect 
of  the  case  was  now  a  matter  of  concern. 

"Miss  June,"  he  said  on  the  evening  of  the  second 
day,  "do  you  mind  if  I  get  up  early  to-morrow  and  do 
a  few  odd  jobs  about  the  house?" 

"What  sort  of  jobs?"  Miss  June's  air  of  suspicion 
was  tinged  with  sternness.  Now  that  she  reigned  in 
Mrs.  Runciman's  stead  she  could  not  help  feeling 
rather  important. 

"If  you'll  show  me  where  the  brushes  are  kept,  I'll 
blacklead  the  kitchen  grate." 

"Please  don't  come  interfering."  In  June's  manner 
was  a  touch  of  hauteur.  t 

Beneath  the  tan  of  East  Anglia,  the  young  man 
coloured.  "But  you'll  spoil  your  hands,"  he  ventured. 

"My  hands  are  no  affair  of  yours,"  said  June,  a  lit- 
tle touched,  and  trying  not  to  show  it. 

"Let  me  take  over  the  kitchen  grate  for  the  future. 
And  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  scrub  the  shop  floor." 

"Is  there  anything  else  you'd  like  to  do  ?"  said  June, 
with  amused  scorn. 

"I'd  like  to  do  all  the  really  rough  jobs  if  I  may." 

"For  why?" 

The  Sawney  had  given  his  reason  already,  and,  in 
spite  of  a  growing  embarrassment,  he  stuck  to  his 
guns. 

Said  June  sternly:  "You  mustn't  come  interfering." 


34  THE   VAN    ROON 

Yet  the  light  in  her  eyes  was  not  anger.  "You've  got 
your  department  and  I've  got  mine.  Windmills  are 
your  department.  Blackleading  kitchen  grates  and 
cleaning  floors  won't  help  you  to  find  windmills.  Be- 
sides, you  have  the  shop  to  look  after,  and  you  have  to 
go  out  and  find  things  for  Uncle  Si,  and  study  art,  and 
talk  to  customers,  and  goodness  knows  what  you 
haven't  got  to  do." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  William  tenaciously, 
"I'll  get  in  the  coal,  anyway." 

June  shook  her  head.  "No  interference,"  was  her 
last  word. 

Nevertheless,  the  following  morning  saw  a  division 
of  labour  within  the  precincts  of  No.  46,  New  Cross 
Street.  When  June  came  downstairs  at  a  quarter  to 
seven,  she  found  a  young  man  on  his  knees  vigorously 
polishing  the  kitchen  grate.  He  was  sans  coat,  waist- 
coat and  collar ;  there  was  a  smudge  on  the  side  of  his 
nose,  and  as  the  temper  of  a  lady  is  apt  to  be  short  at 
so  early  an  hour,  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  was  rebuked 
crushingly. 

"Didn't  I  say  I  wouldn't  have  interference?  I  don't 
come  into  your  studio  and  look  for  windmills,  do  I?" 

William,  still  on  his  knees,  had  penitently  to  own 
that  she  didn't. 

"It's — it's  a  great  liberty,"  said  June,  hotly. 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  an  air  to  disarm  the  Furies. 
"Oh— please— no!" 

"What  is  it  then?"  Secretly  she  was  annoyed  with 
herself  for  not  being  as  much  annoyed  as  the  case  de- 
manded. "What  is  it  then?  Coming  into  my  kitchen 
with  your  interference." 

"I'm  ever  so  sorry,  but " 


THE   VAN    ROON  35 

"But  what?" 

"I  simply  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  spoiling  your 
beautiful  hands." 

June's  eyes  were  fire ;  her  cheek  flamed  like  a  peony. 
"Go  and  look  for  your  beautiful  windmills,  and  leave 
my  hands  alone." 

But  the  owner  of  the  beautiful  hands  was  now  fet- 
tered by  the  knowledge  that  she  was  beginning  to  blush 
horribly. 


VII 

IN  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  about  half  an  hour 
before  supper,  June  climbed  the  attic  stairs  and 
knocked  boldly  upon  the  studio  door. 

"Come  in,"  a  gentle  voice  invited  her. 

William,  a  lump  of  cotton  wool  in  one  hand,  the 
mysterious  bottle  in  the  other,  was  absorbed  in  the  task 
of  looking  for  a  windmill.  He  had  to  own,  the  queer 
fellow,  that  so  far  success  had  not  crowned  his  search. 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  June,  uncompromisingly. 

"But  there  are  the  trees."  William  took  up  a  knife 
and  laid  the  point  to  a  canvas  that  was  already  several 
tones  lighter  than  of  yore. 

There  was  a  pause  while  June  screwed  up  her  eyes 
like  an  expert;  and  in  consequence  she  had  reluctantly 
to  admit  that  they  were  unmistakable  trees. 

"And  now  we  are  coming  to  the  water,  don't  you 
see?"  said  the  young  man  in  a  tone  of  quiet  ecstasy. 

"Where's  the  water?" 

With  a  lover's  delicacy,  William  ran  the  point  of  the 
knife  along  the  canvas. 

"Don't  you  see  it,  Miss  June?"  There  was  a  thrill 
in  the  low  voice. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  June.  "It's  water,  right  enough." 
No  use  trying  now  not  to  be  impressed.  "Now  I  call 
that  rather  clever !" 

"I  knew  it  was  there.  And  if  you  know  a  thing's 
there,  sooner  or  later  you  are  bound  to  find  it.  Do  you 

36 


THE    VAN    ROON  37 

know  what  my  opinion  is?"  Of  a  sudden,  the  exalted 
voice  sank  mysteriously. 

June  had  no  idea  what  William's  opinion  was,  but 
she  was  quite  willing  to  hear  it,  whatever  it  might  be, 
for  he  had  just  had  a  considerable  rise  in  her  estima- 
tion. 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  at  all  if  this  turns  out  to  be 
a- "  He  broke  off  with  a  perplexing  smile. 

"Turns  out  to  be  a  what?" 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  not  say."  The  words,  in  their 
caution  and  their  gravity  intrigued  a  shrewd  daughter 
of  the  midlands.  June,  in  spite  of  herself,  was  begin- 
ning to  respect  this  odd  young  man. 

"You  think  it  might  be  something  very  good?" 

"It  might  be  something  almost  too  good."  William's 
tone  had  a  deep  vibration.  "If  it  keeps  on  coming  out 
like  this,  it'll  be  wonderful.  Do  you  see  that  cloud?" 

June  peered  hard,  but  she  could  not  see  a  suspicion 
of  a  cloud. 

"Take  the  microscope." 

Even  with  the  microscope  no  cloud  was  visible  to 
June. 

"I'm  as  sure  of  it  as  I  ever  was  of  anything/'  said 
William.  "There's  a  cloud' — oh,  yes!"  The  note  of 
faith  was  music.  "And  there's  a  sky — oh,  yes!"  A 
stray  beam  of  the  September  sunset  made  an  effect  so 
remarkable,  as  it  slanted  across  the  upturned  eyes,  that 
June  paid  them  rather  more  attention  at  the  moment 
than  she  gave  to  the  canvas. 

"Has  Uncle  Si  seen  those  trees?"  she  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"Yes,  the  master  came  up  to  look  at  them  a  few  min- 
utes ago." 


38  THE   VAN    ROON 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  just  scratched  his  cheek  and  changed  his  spec- 
tacles." 

"Did  you  tell  him  what  you've  just  told  me?" 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Did  Uncle  Si  believe  you?" 

"He  said  he'd  wait  till  he  saw  it." 

"Well,  he  can't  deny  the  trees,  anyway." 

"No,  he  can't  deny  the  trees.  But,  of  course  the 
real  picture  is  only  just  beginning  to  come  out,  as  you 
might  say.  All  the  same,  he's  made  me  an  offer  for 
it,  even  as  it  stands." 

With  a  swift,  sudden  intuition,  June  cried:  "I  hope 
you  haven't  taken  it !" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  haven't,"  said  William,  casu- 
ally. "I  feel  I'd  like  to  keep  the  picture  until  I  find  out 
what  it  really  is." 

"Well,  mind  you  do.  And,  if  the  question  isn't  a 
rude  one,  what  did  Uncle  Si  offer?" 

"Seven  and  sixpence.  But  that's  for  the  frame 
mainly." 

June  grew  magisterial.  "You  mustn't  think  of  part- 
ing with  it." 

With  an  innocence  hard  to  credit  in  one  so  clever, 
William  asked  why. 

"Why!"  June  almost  snorted.  "Because  if  Uncle 
Si  offers  you  seven  and  sixpence  for  a  thing  which  he 
knows  you  bought  for  five  shillings,  you  can  be  sure 
that  he  considers  it  may  be  valuable." 

"The  master  has  always  been  very  good  to  me," 
said  the  young  man  with  extreme  simplicity. 

At  these  words  June  felt  a  stab  of  pain,  so  great  was 
the  contrast  between  the  two  men.  One  saw  the  wares 


THE    VAN    ROON  39 

in  which  they  dealt  only  in  terms  of  beauty,  the  other 
in  terms  of  money. 

"You  are  too  modest.  And,  although  you  are  so 
clever,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  you  are  also 
rather  foolish  in  some  ways — at  least  that's  my 
opinion." 

William  frankly  admitted  the  impeachment. 

"Well,  now,"  said  June,  a  cool  and  steady  eye  upon 
him,  "suppose  you  tell  me  where  you  think  your  fool- 
ishness lies?" 

"Why,  I  was  foolish  enough  to  think  that  patch" — 
the  Simpleton  pressed  the  finger  of  an  artist  upon  the 
patch — "was  really  and  truly  a  windmill.  But,  of 
course,  it's  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"I'm  not  speaking  of  windmills  now,"  said  June 
severely.  "I'm  speaking  of  things  much  more  im- 
portant." 

"Oh,  but  a  windmill  can  be  very  important.  Have 
you  ever  really  seen  a  windmill  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  have." 

The  Sawney  asked  where. 

June  had  seen  a  windmill  in  Lincolnshire. 

"Lincolnshire!  Oh,  but  you  should  see  the  one  in 
the  National  Gallery." 

"The  one  in  the  where  ?"  said  June,  with  a  frown. 

Of  a  sudden  his  voice  took  its  delicious  fall.  The 
rare  smile,  which  lit  his  face,  was  for  June  an  enchant- 
ment: "It's  a  Hobbema," 

"A  what!— emma!" 

"A  Hobbema.  On  Saturdays  the  shop  closes  at  one, 
so  that  I  could  take  you  to  see  it,  if  you'd  care  to.  I 
should  like  you  so  much  to  see  it — that's  if  it  interests 


40  THE   VAN    ROON 

you  at  all.  It  will  give  you  an  idea  of  what  a  windmill 
can  be." 

"But  I  meant  a  real  windmill.  I'm  only  interested 
in  real  things,  anyway." 

"A  Hobbema  is  better  than  real." 

"Better  than  real,"  said  June,  opening  wide  eyes. 

"When  you  see  it,  you'll  understand  what  I  mean.  I 
do  hope  you'll  come  and  look  at  it." 

June  was  such  a  practical  person  that  her  first  in- 
stinct was  to  refuse  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  But 
that  instinct  was  overborne  by  the  complexity  of  her 
feelings.  In  some  ways  he  was  the  simplest  Simon  of 
them  all;  a  longing  to  shake  him  was  growing  upon 
her,  but  the  disconcerting  fact  remained  that  after  a 
fashion  he  was  decidedly  clever.  And  leaving  his  men- 
tal qualities  out  of  the  case,  when  you  got  his  face  at 
an  angle  and  you  caught  the  light  in  his  eyes,  he  was 
by  far  the  handsomest  young  man  she  had  ever  seen. 
Therefore  her  promise  was  reluctantly  given  that  on 
Saturday  afternoon  she  would  go  with  him  to  the  Na- 
tional Gallery  to  see  what  a  windmill  was  really  like. 


VIII 

JUNE'S  promise  was  made  on  the  evening  of  Mon- 
day. Before  it  could  be  fulfilled,  however,  much 
had  to  happen.  Saturday  itself  was  put  out  of  the 
case  by  the  departure  of  William  early  that  morning 
to  attend  a  sale  in  Essex,  where  several  things  might 
be  going  cheap.  And  on  the  following  Thursday  he 
had  to  go  to  Tunbridge  Wells.  During  his  absence  on 
that  day,  moreover,  June's  interest  in  the  picture  he 
had  bought  at  Crowdham  Market  was  roused  suddenly 
to  a  very  high  pitch. 

Even  before  this  significant  event  occurred,  her  mind 
had  been  full  of  this  much-discussed  purchase.  Day 
by  day  William  wrought  upon  it  with  growing  enthu- 
siasm. There  was  now  no  more  doubt  in  regard  to  the 
clouds  and  the  sky  than  there  was  as  to  the  trees  and 
the  water.  S.  Gedge  Antiques  had  been  up  to  the  attic 
several  times  to  see  for  himself,  and  although  in  his 
opinion,  the  best  that  could  be  said  for  the  picture  was 
that  it  might  turn  out  to  be  a  copy  of  a  fair  example 
of  the  Dutch  School,  he  went  to  the  length  of  doubling 
his  offer  of  seven  and  sixpence.  In  other  words,  which 
he  issued  with  point  at  the  supper  table  on  the  evening 
prior  to  William's  trip  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  there  was 
"a  full  week's  extra  wages  sticking  out,"  if  only  the 
young  man  cared  to  take  it  in  exchange  for  a  dubious 
work  of  little  or  no  value. 

41 


42  THE   VAN   ROON 

William  needed,  among  other  things,  a  new  pair  of 
boots;  he  was  short  of  the  materials  of  his  craft,  and 
the  sum  of  fifteen  shillings  meant  a  great  deal  to  him 
at  any  time,  facts  with  which  his  employer  was  well 
acquainted.  The  temptation  was  great.  While  the 
offer  was  under  consideration,  June  held  her  breath. 
She  haa  a  frantic  desire  to  signal  across  the  table  to 
William  not  to  part  with  his  treasure.  Much  to  her 
relief,  however,  the  young  man  resisted  the  lure.  His 
master  told  him  roundly  that  only  a  fool  would  refuse 
such  an  offer.  William  allowed  that  it  was  princely, 
but  he  had  quite  an  affection  for  the  picture  now,  be- 
sides, much  had  to  be  done  to  get  it  really  clean. 

At  present,  moreover,  he  had  not  even  begun  to  look 
for  the  signature. 

"Signature !"  S.  Gedge  Antiques  took  up  the  word 
sarcastically.  And  there  were  times,  as  June  knew 
already,  when  the  old  man  could  be  terribly  sarcastic. 
"You'll  be  looking,  I  suppose,  for  the  signature  of 
Hobbema.  Seems  to  me,  boy,  you're  cracked  on  that 
subject." 

"I  don't  think,  sir,"  said  William,  in  his  gentle  voice, 
"that  this  picture  is  a  Hobbema." 

"Don't  you  indeed  ?"  To  conceal  a  rising  impatience 
Uncle  Si  made  a  face  at  his  niece.  "You're  cracked, 
my  boy."  He  gave  his  own  forehead  a  symbolical  tap. 
"Why  waste  your  time  looking  for  a  signature  to  a 
thing  you  bought  for  five  shillings  at  an  old  serendipity 
shop  at  Crowdham  Market!  You'd  far  better  turn 
over  a  snug  little  profit  of  two  hundred  per  cent  and 
forget  all  about  it." 

The  next  day,  however,  when  William  set  out  for 
Tunbridge  Wells,  he  was  still  the  owner  of  the  picture. 


THE   VAN   ROON  43 

And  in  the  light  of  what  was  to  follow  it  was  a  fact  of 
considerable  importance. 

In  the  course  of  that  morning,  while  June  was  help- 
ing Uncle  Si  to  dress  the  front  window,  there  sauntered 
into  the  shop  a  funny,  oldish,  foxy  little  man,  who  wore 
a  brown  billycock  hat  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  had 
a  pair  of  legs  as  crooked  as  a  Louis  Quinze  chair.  She 
set  him  down  at  once  as  a  character  out  of  Dickens. 

"Mornin'  to  you,  Mr.  Gedge,"  said  this  quaint 
visitor. 

"Mornin'  to  you,  Mr.  Thornton!"  said  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  returning  the  salutation  with  deference. 

June  cocked  her  ears.  The  note  in  Uncle  Si's  rasp- 
ing voice,  which  always  seemed  to  need  a  file,  told  her 
at  once  that  the  visitor  was  no  common  man. 

As  a  preliminary  to  business,  whatever  that  business 
might  be,  Mr.  Thornton  fixed  an  eye  like  a  small  bright 
bead  on  the  Hoodoo,  whose  sinister  bulk  seemed  to 
dominate  half  the  shop.  It  was  fixed,  moreover,  with 
an  air  of  whimsical  appreciation  as  he  murmured: 
"The  British  Museum  is  the  place  for  that." 

"There  I'm  with  you,  Mr.  Thornton."  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  looked  his  visitor  steadily  in  the  eye.  "Won- 
derful example  of  early  Polynesian  craftsmanship." 

"Early  Polynesian  craftsmanship."  The  little  man 
stroked  the  belly  of  the  Hoodoo  with  a  kind  of  rapt 
delicacy  which  other  men  reserve  for  the  fetlock  of  a 
horse. 

"Only  one  of  its  kind." 

"I  should  say  so,"  murmured  Louis  Quinze-legs, 
screwing  up  his  eyes;  and  then,  by  way  of  after- 
thought: "I've  just  dropped  in,  Mr.  Gedge,  to  have  a 
look  at  that  picture  you  mentioned  to  me  yesterday." 


44  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Oh,  that,  Mr.  Thornton."  The  voice  of  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  suggested  that  the  matter  was  of  such  little 
consequence  that  it  had  almost  passed  from  his  mind. 
"S'pose  I'd  better  get  it  for  you."  And  then  with  an 
odd  burst  of  agility,  which  in  one  of  his  years  was  quite 
surprising,  the  old  man  left  the  shop,  while  June,  her 
heart  beating  high,  went  on  dressing  the  window. 

In  three  minutes  or  less,  William's  picture  appeared 
under  the  arm  of  William's  master.  "Here  you  are, 
Mr.  Thornton  1"  The  voice  was  oil. 

June  made  herself  small  between  a  Chinese  cabinet 
and  a  tallboys  in  the  window's  deepest  gorge.  From 
this  point  of  vantage,  the  privilege  of  seeing  and  hear- 
ing all  that  passed  in  the  shop  was  still  hers. 

Foxy  Face  received  the  picture  in  silence  from  Uncle 
Si,  held  it  to  his  eyes,  pursed  his  lips,  took  a  glass  from 
his  pocket,  and  examined  it  minutely  back  and  front, 
turning  it  over  and  tapping  it  several  times  in  the  pro- 
cess. The  slow  care  he  gave  to  this  ritual  began  to  get 
on  June's  nerves. 

"There's  good  work  in  it,"  said  Louis  Ouinze-legs,  at 
last. 

"Good  work  in  it !"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques  in  what 
June  called  his  "selling"  voice.  "I  should  just  think 
there  was." 

"But  there's  one  thing  it  lacks."  The  little  man, 
looking  more  than  ever  like  a  fox,  chose  each  word 
with  delicacy.  "It's  a  pity — a  very  great  pity — there's 
no  signature." 

"Signature!"  The  old  man's  tone  had  lost  the 
drawling  sneer  of  the  previous  evening.  "Tell  me,  Mr. 

Thornton, "  He  must  have  forgotten  that  June 

was  so  near — "if  we  happened  to  come  upon  the  sig- 


THE    VAN    ROON  45 

nature  of  Hobbema  down  there  in  that  left  hand  cor- 
ner— in  that  black  splotch — what  do  you  suppose  it 
might  be  worth?" 

Mr.  Thornton  did  not  answer  the  question  at  once. 
And  when  answer  he  did, 'his  voice  was  so  low  that 
June  could  hardly  hear  it.  "I  wouldn't  like  to  say  off- 
hand, Mr.  Gedge.  Mosby  sent  a  Hobbema  to  New 
York  last  year,  but  what  he  got  for  it  I  don't  know." 

"I  heard  twenty-eight  thousand  dollars." 

"So  did  I,  but  I  doubt  it.  Still,  the  Americans  are 
paying  big  money  just  now.  Did  you  see  that  thing 
of  Mosby's,  by  the  way?" 

"Yes ;  it  was  a  bit  larger  than  this  chap,  but  it  hadn't 
the  work  in  it." 

"Well,  get  it  a  bit  cleaner;  and  then,  if  you  can  show 
me  Hobbema's  signature  with  the  date,  about  the  place 
where  I've  got  my  finger,  I  dare  say  we  can  come  to 
business,  Mr.  Gedge." 

"I  quite  expect  we'll  be  able  to  do  that,"  said  the  old 
man  with  an  air  of  robust  optimism  which  surprised 
June  considerably. 

Foxy  Face  ventured  to  hope  that  such  might  be  the 
case,  whereupon  the  voice  of  Uncle  Si  fell  to  a  pitch 
which  his  niece  had  to  strain  a  keen  ear  to  catch. 

"Suppose,  Mr.  Thornton,  we  omit  the  question  of 
the  signature?  Do  you  feel  inclined  to  make  an  offer 
for  the  picture  as  it  stands?" 

The  pause  which  followed  was  long  and  tense,  and 
then  June  was  just  able  to  hear  the  cautious  voice  of 
Foxy  Face.  "Possibly,  Mr.  Gedge — I  dare  say  I 
might.  But  before  I  could  think  of  doing  that,  I 
should  like  a  friend  of  mine  to  vet  it.  He's  wise  in 
these  things,  and  knows  what  can  be  done  with  them." 


46  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Right  you  are,  Mr.  Thornton,"  said  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques brisk  and  businesslike.  "If  you  can  tell  me 
when  your  friend  is  likely  to  call,  I'll  be  here  to  meet 
him." 

"Shall  we  say  to-morrow  morning  at  ten?" 
come,  I'll  telephone." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Gedge.  And  if  my  friend  can't 
come,  I'll  telephone." 

Foxy  Face  was  bowed  out  of  the  shop  with  a  polite- 
ness .that  fairly  astonished  June.  She  could  hardly 
believe  that  this  mirror  of  courtesy  was  Uncle  Si.  In 
fact,  it  was  as  if  the  old  man  had  had  a  change  of  heart. 
With  the  light  step  of  a  boy,  he  took  back  the  picture 
to  the  attic,  while  June,  thinking  hard,  retired  to  the 
back  premises  to  cook  two  middling-sized  potatoes  for 
dinner. 


IX 

IT  was  not  until  the  evening  that  William  returned 
from  Tunbridge  Wells.  He  had  been  to  look  at  a 
picture  which  his  master  had  seen  already,  but  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  was  wise  enough  to  recognise  that  his  assist- 
ant had  an  instinct  for  pictures  far  beyond  his  own. 
In  the  matter  of  bric-a-brac  he  would  always  trust  his 
own  judgment,  but  when  it  came  to  an  oil  painting  he 
was  very  glad  to  have  it  fortified  by  the  special  and 
peculiar  knowledge  that  William  had  now  acquired. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  in  this  sphere,  which  for  his 
master  was  comparatively  new  and  full  of  pitfalls,  the 
young  man  had  a  remarkable  gift.  It  was  a  gift,  more- 
over, of  which  he  had  yet  to  learn  the  true  value. 

In  "summer-time"  September  the  days  are  long; 
and  as  supper  was  not  until  nine  o'clock,  there  was 
light  enough  for  William,  on  getting  home,  to  spend  a 
rare  hour  in  the  studio,  delving  for  further  beauties  in 
that  derelict  canvas  which  already  had  far  exceeded 
his  hopes. 

"I  know  where  you  are  going,"  whispered  June,  in 
the  young  man's  ear  as  he  left  the  little  sitting-room 
behind  the  shop,  where  sat  Uncle  Si,  spectacles  on  nose, 
poring  over  the  pages  of  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle. 

The  young  man  glowed  at  this  friendly  interest  on 
the  part  of  Miss  June ;  in  fact,  he  was  touched  by  it. 
She  was  the  master's  niece;  therefore  she  was  on  a 
plane  of  being  superior  to  his  own.  And  he  had 
learned  already  that  those  who  are  above  you  in  the 
world,  are  apt  to  turn  their  advantage  to  your  detri- 
47 


48  THE   VAN    ROON' 

ment;  but  Miss  June,  for  all  that  she  was  the  master's 
niece  and  had  been  one  term  at  the  Blackhampton  High 
School,  and  was  therefore  a  person  of  social  weight, 
had  been  careful  so  far  not  to  assert  her  status.  And 
so  his  heart  was  open  to  her ;  besides  this  present  keen 
interest  in  his  labours  was  most  encouraging. 

"I'm  coming  up  to  look  at  it  again,  if  I  may,"  whis- 
pered June,  as  she  followed  him  out  of  the  room. 

"Please,  please  do,"  he  said,  delightedly. 

As  she  climbed  the  steep  stairs,  William  in  the  sev- 
enth heaven,  followed  close  upon  her  heels.  What  a 
pleasure  to  expound  the  merits  of  such  a  work  to  one 
so  sympathetic!  As  for  June,  her  quick  mind  was  at 
work.  Even  before  the  coming  of  Foxy  Face  she  had 
guessed,  or  some  instinct  had  told  her,  that  this  picture 
was  no  ordinary  one,  and  now  that  she  had  overheard 
that  gentleman's  recent  talk  with  Uncle  Si  she  had 
been  given  furiously  to  think.  To  understand  all  its 
implications  needed  far  more  knowledge  of  a  deep, 
not  to  say  "tricky,"  subject  than  she  possessed,  but  one 
fact  was  clear :  her  opinion  as  to  the  picture's  value  was 
fully  confirmed.  Here  was  a  treasure  whose  real 
worth  even  William  himself  might  not  be  able  to  guess. 

Now  was  the  moment,  June  shrewdly  saw,  for 
prompt  and  decisive  action.  Uncle  Si  had  set  his  heart 
upon  this  rare  thing;  but  if  flesh  and  blood  was  equal 
to  the  task,  she  must  take  immediate  steps  to  baulk  him. 
Alas,  she  knew  only  too  well  that  it  was  likely  to  prove 
an  immensely  difficult  matter. 

June  stood  in  front  of  the  easel,  and  set  her  head  to 
one  side  quite  in  the  manner  of  an  expert. 

"It  seems  to  grow  finer  and  finer,"  she  said,  in  a  soft 
voice. 


THE   VAN    ROON  49 

"Yes,  it  does,"  said  William,  touching  it  here  and 
there  with  loverly  fingers.  "If  I  can  but  manage  to 
get  the  top  off  without  hurting  the  fabric,  I'm  sure  it'll 
be  a  non-such." 

June  fervently  said  that  she  hoped  it  would  be. 

"There's  the  cloud  I  spoke  to  you  about  the  other 
day." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  June,  screwing  up  her  eyes,  in  un- 
ponscious  imitation  of  Foxy  Face.  "I  see  it  now.  And 
it's  very  beautiful  indeed." 

"And  the  touch  of  sunlight  in  it.  I  hope  you  notice 
that!"  As  William  spoke,  it  almost  seemed  to  June 
that  she  could  see  the  reflection  of  the  sunlight  in  the 
eyes  of  this  enthusiast. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  June  stoutly. 

"A  real  painter  has  done  that !"  The  young  man's 
voice  took  that  dying  fall  she  had  learnt  already  to 
listen  for.  "This  is  a  lovely  thing,  Miss  June !"  Pure 
cadence  touched  her  heart  with  fire.  "Do  you  know, 
I  am  beginning  to  think  this  little  picture  is  the  most 
perfect  thing  I  have  ever  seen?" 

"Very  valuable,  I  dare  say,"  said  June,  bringing  him 
to  earth. 

"I  only  know  it's  good." 

"But  surely  if  it's  good  it's  valuable?  What  do  you 
think  it  might  be  worth?" 

"Miss  June," — the  queer  little  tremble  in  his  voice 
sounded  divine — "don't  let  us  think  of  it  as  money." 

But  at  those  hushed  words,  at  the  far-off  look  in  the 
deep  eyes,  she  felt  once  more  a  touch  of  pain. 

"Uncle  Si  would  call  that  sentiment.  He  believes 
that  money  is  the  most  important  thing  there  is;  he 
believes  it  is  the  only  thing  that  matters." 


50  THE   VAN    ROON 

She  meant  it  as  a  facer  for  this  Sawney,  who  had  de- 
clared to  her  that  Uncle  Si  could  neither  think  wrong 
nor  ensue  it.  A  hit,  shrewd  and  fair,  but  the  Sawney 
was  still  in  business. 

"In  a  manner  of  speaking,  it  may  be  so.  But  I  am 
sure  the  master  will  tell  you  there  are  things  money 
can't  buy." 

"What  are  they?"  June's  frown  was  the  fiercer  for 
the  effort  to  repress  it 

"Take  this  glint  of  sun  striking  through  that  won- 
derful cloud.  All  the  money  in  the  world  couldn't  buy 
that." 

"Of  course  it  could.  And  I  don't  suppose  it  would 
take  much  to  buy  it  either." 

He  solemnly  dissented.     She  asked  why  not. 

"Because,"  said  he,  "that  bit  of  sunlight  only  exists 
in  the  eye  that  sees  it." 

"That's  sentiment,"  said  June  severely.  "You 
might  say  the  same  of  anything." 

"You  might,  of  course.  Nothing  is,  but  thinking 
makes  it  so." 

Again  June  heard  the  queer  little  tremble  in  his 
voice,  again  she  saw  that  strange  look  steal  across  his 
face. 

"What  you  say  sounds  very  deep,  but  if  you  talk  in 
that  way  I'm  quite  sure  you'll  never  get  on  in  the 
world." 

"I'll  be  quite  happy  to  live  as  I  am,  if  only  I'm  al- 
lowed to  see  the  wonderful  things  that  are  in  it." 

June  had  a  fierce  desire  to  shake  him,  but  he  beamed 
upon  her,  and  she  became  a  lamb. 

"On  Saturday,"  he  said,  "when  we  go  to  our  little 
treasure  house,  you  will  see  what  I  mean." 


THE   VAN    ROON  51 

"If  you  talk  in  this  way,"  said  June  once  more  se- 
vere, "I  shall  not  go  with  you  on  Saturday  to  your  little 
treasure  house.  Or  on  Sunday  either.  Or  on  any  day 
of  the  week.  If  you  were  a  millionaire,  you  could 
afford  to  be  fanciful.  Being  what  you  are,  and  your 
salary  less  than  half  what  it  should  be,  I  really  think 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

She  was  a  little  astonished  at  her  own  vehemence. 
He  seemed  a  little  astonished  at  it  also. 

"Nothing  is,  but  thinking  makes  it  so,"  said  June, 
with  fine  scorn.  "That's  what  Mr.  Boultby,  the  drug- 
gist at  the  bottom  of  our  street  at  home,  would  call 
poppycock.  It  means  you'll  be  very  lucky  if  some  fine 
morning  you  don't  wake  up  and  find  yourself  in  the 
workhouse." 

One  smile  more  he  gave  her  out  of  his  deep  eyes. 

"That  sort  of  talk,"  said  June,  with  growing  fierce- 
ness, "is  just  potty.  It  won't  find  you  tools  and  a  place 
to  work  in,  or  three  meals  a  day,  and  a  bed  at  night." 

"But  don't  you  see  what  I  mean?" 

"No,  I  don't.  As  I  say,  to  my  mind  it's  potty.  But 
now  tell  me,  what  do  you  think  this  picture's  worth  if 
you  were  buying  it  for  Uncle  Si  to  sell  again?" 

"That  is  a  very  difficult  question  to  answer.  The 
master  is  so  clever  at  selling  things  that  he  might  get  a 
big  price  for  it  in  the  market." 

"Even  without  the  signature  ?"  And  June  fixed  the 
eye  of  a  hawk  on  the  young  man's  face. 

"I  don't  say  that.  The  signature  might  make  a  lot 
of  difference  to  a  dealer.  But  don't  let  us  talk  of  the 
price.  There  are  things  in  this  picture  that  money 
ought  not  to  buy." 

An  impatient  "Poppycock!"  all  but  escaped  Mr. 


52  THE   VAN    ROON 

Boultby's  disciple.  Yet  of  a  sudden,  in  a  fashion  so 
unexpected  as  to  verge  upon  drama,  her  own  voice  took 
that  soft  quick  fall  he  had  taught  her  the  trick  of. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  love  it,"  she  said, 
dreamily.  "I  would  give  almost  anything  if  it  were 
mine." 

William's  limpid  glance  betrayed  that  he  was  only 
too  happy  to  believe  her. 

"It  is  quite  as  beautiful  to  me  as  it  is  to  you."  June 
plunged  on,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him.  "And 
I  think  it  would  be  a  terrible  pity  if  it  ever  came  to  be 
sold  by  Uncle  Si.  I  simply  love  it.  Suppose  you  sell 
it  to  me?" 

"To  you,  Miss  June!" 

"Yes — to  me."  There  was  swift  decision  and  the 
fixing  of  the  will.  "I  like  it  so  much  that  I'll  give  you 
nineteen  pounds  for  it,  and  that's  all  I  have  in  the 
world." 

William  was  astonished. 

"I  hadn't  realised,"  he  said,  in  charmed  surprise, 
"that  you  admire  it  so  much  as  all  that." 

"Yes,  I  do  admire  it."  Her  heart  beat  fast  and  high. 
"And  I  want  it.  I  can't  tell  you  just  what  that  picture 
means  to  me.  But  nineteen  pounds  is  all  I  can  pay." 

He  shook  his  head  in  slow  finality. 

She  did  not  try  to  conceal  her  disappointment. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  taking  a  penny  of  your  money," 
he  said,  shyly.  "But  as  you  love  it  so  much,  I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  to  give  it  you." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp.  An  act  of  such  pure  gener- 
osity was  rather  staggering. 

"I  hope  you  will,  Miss  June."  He  spoke  with  a  de- 
licious embarrassment.  "Loving  it  so  much  really 


THE   VAN   ROON  53 

makes  it  yours.  To  love  a  thing  is  to  possess  it.  And 
I  shall  always  have  the  happiness  of  feeling  that  it  has 
made  you  happy." 

She  turned  away  a  face  glowing  with  shame.  She 
could  never  hope  to  feel  about  it  in  the  way  that  he  did, 
and  it  seemed  almost  wicked  to  deceive  him.  But  a 
young  man  so  poor  as  he  could  not  afford  to  be  so  sim- 
ple; and  she  soothed  her  conscience  by  telling  herself 
what  she  was  now  doing  was  for  his  future  good. 

Conscience,  however,  was  not  to  be  put  out  of  action 
that  way.  The  part  she  was  playing  hurt  like  a  scald 
on  the  hand.  Both  their  tongues  were  tied  by  the  pause 
which  followed,  and  then  she  said  in  a  weak,  halting 
manner  that  was  not  like  her :  "You  must  have  some- 
thing in  exchange  for  it,  of  course — not  that  I  shall 
ever  be  able  to  offer  anything  near  its  true  value." 

"I  ask  no  more  than  what  you  have  given  me  al- 
ready." 

"What  have  I  given  you?" 

"You  have  given  me  the  wonderful  look  I  see  some- 
times in  your  face,  and  the  light  that  springs  from  your 
eyes  and  the  glow  of  your  hair.  When  you  came  to 
this  house,  you  brought  something  with  you  that  was 
never  in  it  before." 

"How  funny  you  are!"  June's  cheek  was  a  flame. 
But  he  spoke  so  impersonally,  delicately  weighing  each 
word  before  a  passion  of  sincerity  gave  it  birth,  that 
any  effective  form  of  rebuke  was  out  of  the  question. 

"Miss  June,"  this  amazing  fellow  went  on,  speaking 
for  all  the  world  as  if  she  were  a  picture  whose  signa- 
ture he  was  looking  for,  "when  you  came  here,  you 
brought  the  sun  of  beauty.  Colour  and  harmony  and 
grace,  you  brought  those  too.  If  only  I  knew  how  to 


54  THE   VAN   ROON 

paint," — he  sighed  gently, — "I  could  never  rest  until  I 
had  put  you  on  canvas  just  as  you  stand  at  this 
moment." 

It  was  clear  that  he  had  forgotten  completely  that 
this  was  the  niece  of  his  employer.  She  also  forgot 
that  no  young  man  had  ventured  yet  to  speak  to  her 
like  that.  This  was  William  the  wonderful  who  was 
addressing  her,  and  his  voice  was  music,  his  eyes  slow 
fire,  his  whole  being  a  golden  web  of  poetry  and  ro- 
mance. 

"You  oughtn't  to  give  away  such  a  thing,"  she 
persisted,  but  with  none  of  her  usual  force.  "It's 
valuable;  and  I  oughtn't  to  take  it."  The  sound  of 
her  voice,  she  knew  only  too  well,  was  thin  and 
strange. 

"Please,  please  take  it,  Miss  June,"  he  quaintly  en- 
treated her.  "It  will  give  me  more  pleasure  to  know 
that  you  are  caring  for  it,  and  that  its  beauty  speaks  to 
you  than  if  I  kept  it  all  to  myself.  I  love  it,  but  you 
love  it,  too.  If  you'll  share  the  happiness  it  brings  me, 
then  I  shall  love  it  even  more." 

Shadows  of  the  evening  were  now  in  the  room.  His 
face  was  half  hidden,  and  the  wildness  of  her  heart 
scarcely  allowed  his  voice  to  be  heard.  She  thought 
no  longer  of  the  worth  of  the  gift,  nor  was  she  now 
concerned  with  the  propriety  of  its  acceptance.  Her 
mind  was  in  the  grip  of  other  things.  Was  it  to  her- 
self he  was  speaking?  Or  was  he  speaking  merely 
to  a  fellow  worshipper  of  beauty?  To  such  questions 
there  could  be  no  answer;  she  trembled  at  the  daring 
which  gave  them  birth. 

His  mere  presence  was  a  lure.  She  longed  to  touch 
his  hand  very  gently,  and  would  perhaps  have  done 


THE   VAN   ROON  55 

so,  had  she  not  been  cruelly  aware  that  even  the  hem  of 
her  sleeve  would  defile  it  She  was  cheating  him,  she 
was  cheating  him  outrageously.  The  only  excuse  she 
had  was  that  it  was  all  for  his  own  good ;  such,  at  least, 
must  now  be  her  prayer,  her  hope,  her  faith. 


THE  next  morning  Foxy  Face,  true  to  the  appoint- 
ment he  had  made  with  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  came 
at  ten  o'clock  with  a  friend.  A  quarter  before  that 
hour  William  had  been  sent  to  the  King's  Road,  Chel- 
sea, in  quest  of  a  Jacobean  carving-table  for  which 
his  master  had  a  customer. 

June,  in  anticipation  of  the  event,  took  care  to  be 
busy  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  shop  when  these  gentle- 
men arrived.  As  on  the  occasion  of  Louis  Quinze- 
legs'  previous  visit,  Uncle  Si  lost  no  time  in  going  him- 
self to  fetch  the  picture,  but  his  prompt  return  was 
fraught  for  June  with  bitter  disappointment.  By  sheer 
ill  luck,  as  it  seemed,  his  stern  eye  fell  on  her  at  the 
very  moment  he  gave  the  picture  to  Mr.  Thornton's 
friend,  a  morose-looking  man  in  a  seedy  frock  coat 
and  a  furry  topper. 

"Niece,"  sharply  called  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  "go  and 
do  your  dusting  somewhere  else/' 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  June  could  almost  have 
shed  tears  of  vexation,  but  she  had  to  obey.  The  most 
she  dared  venture  in  the  way  of  appeasing  a  curiosity 
that  had  grown  terrific  was  to  steal  back  on  tiptoe  a 
few  minutes  later,  to  retrieve  a  pot  of  furniture  polish 
she  had  been  clever  enough  to  leave  behind.  Like  a 
mouse  she  crept  back  for  it,  but  Uncle  Si  flashed  upon 
her  such  a  truculent  eye  that,  without  trying  to  catch  a 
word  that  was  passing,  she  simply  fled. 
56 


THE   VAN    ROON  57 

Fear  seized  her.  She  felt  sure  that  she  had  seen 
the  last  of  the  picture.  Her  distrust  of  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques had  become  so  great  that  she  was  now  convinced 
that  money  would  tempt  him  to  anything.  Twenty 
miserable  minutes  she  spent  wondering  what  she  must 
do  if  the  picture  was  disposed  of  there  and  then.  She 
tried  to  steel  her  heart  against  the  fact,  now  looming 
inevitable,  that  she  would  never  see  it  again. 

At  last  the  visitors  left  the  shop.  June  then  dis- 
covered that  her  fears  had  carried  her  rather  too  far, 
and  that  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate,  Uncle  Si  had 
been  done  an  injustice. 

He  shambled  slowly  into  the  kitchen  and  to  June's 
intense  relief  the  picture  was  in  his  hand. 

"Niece,"  he  said,  threatfully;  "understand  once  for 
all  that  I  won't  have  you  hanging  about  the  shop  when 
I  am  doing  business  with  important  customers." 

The  sight  of  the  picture  was  so  much  more  important 
than  the  words  which  came  out  of  his  mouth  that  June 
felt  inclined  to  treat  them  lightly. 

"I'm  telling  you,"  said  the  old  man  fiercely.  "Mark 
what  I  say.  I  won't  have  females  listening  with  their 
mouths  open  when  I'm  doing  business.  And  don't 
laugh  at  me,  else  you'll  have  to  pack  your  box.  Here !" 
Uncle  Si  handed  her  the  picture  with  a  scowl.  "Take 
this  back  to  where  it  came  from;  and  just  remember 
what's  been  said  to  you,  or  you'll  find  yourself  short 
of  a  week's  pocket  money." 

Adjured  thus,  June  was  a  model  of  discretion  for 
the  rest  of  that  day;  and  yet  she  was  the  prey  of  a 
devouring  curiosity.  She  would  have  given  much  to 
know  What  had  taken  place  in  the  course  of  the  morn- 
ing's traffic  with  Louis  Quinze-legs  and  his  friend.  It 


58  THE   VAN   ROON 

was  not  until  supper-time  that  she  was  able  to  gather 
a  clue,  when  Uncle  Si  mentioned  the  matter  to  William. 
He  was  careful  to  do  so,  however,  in  the  most  casual 
way. 

"By  the  way,  boy,"  said  the  old  man  gravely  balan- 
cing a  piece  of  cheese  on  the  end  of  his  knife,  and  fixing 
June  with  his  eye  as  he  did  so ;  "that  daub  of  yours — 
I've  had  Mr.  Thornton  here  to  look  at  it." 

"I  hope  he  liked  it,  sir,"  said  William,  with  his  eager 
smile. 

Uncle  Si  pursed  his  mouth.  Then  he  went  through 
the  rest  of  his  performance,  which  on  this  occasion 
ended  in  a  noise  through  closed  lips  like  a  hornet's 
drone,  which  might  have  meant  anything. 

June  felt  an  insane  desire  to  give  the  old  wretch  a 
punch  on  his  long  and  wicked  nose. 

"What  did  he  think  of  the  cloud?"  asked  William. 
"And  the  light  of  the  sun  striking  through  on  to  the 
water?" 

"He  says  it's  very  rough  and  dirty,  and  in  bad  con- 
dition, but  if  I  could  buy  it  for  two  pounds  he  might 
be  able  to  show  me  a  small  profit." 

"I  should  think  so,"  murmured  June,  holding  a  glass 
of  water  in  suspense. 

Uncle  Si  laid  down  his  knife  and  looked  at  her. 

"You  think  so,  niece,"  he  snarled.  "Have  the  good- 
ness to  mind  your  own  affairs,  or  you  and  I  will  quarrel. 
That's  twice  to-day  I've  had  to  speak  to  you." 

June  covered  a  retreat  from  the  impossible  position 
strong  feelings  had  led  her  into  by  emptying  her  glass 
in  one  fierce  draught. 

"You  see,  boy,"  said  Uncle  Si,  turning  to  William 
with  a  confidential  air,  "this — this  picture." — It  seemed 


THE   VAN    ROON  59 

a  great  concession  on  his  part  to  allow  that  the  thing 
was  a  picture  at  all — "is  without  a  signature.  That 
makes  it  almost  valueless." 

William  smiled  and  gently  shook  his  head. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  it  is  signed  in  every  line." 

"Rubbish.  No  theorising — this  is  a  business  propo- 
sition. And  I  tell  you  that  without  the  signature,  this 
bit  of  pretty-pretty  just  amounts  to  nix."  The  old  man 
gave  his  fingers  a  contemptuous  snap.  "That's  what 
it  amounts  to.  But  as  you've  taken  the  trouble  to  bring 
it  all  the  way  from  Suffolk  and  you've  spent  a  certain 
amount  of  your  master's  time  in  trying  to  get  it  clean, 
as  I  say,  I'll  spring  a  couple  of  pounds  to  encourage 
you.  But  why  I  should  I  really  don't  know." 

June  was  hard-set  to  refrain  from  breaking  the  peace 
which  followed,  with  the  laugh  of  derision.  Happily, 
by  a  triumph  of  will  power,  she  bridled  her  tongue  and 
kept  her  eyes  modestly  upon  her  plate. 

"Now,  boy !"  Uncle  Si  made  a  series  of  conjuror's 
passes  with  his  spectacles.  "Two  pounds!  Take  it 
or  leave  it !  What  do  you  say?" 

William  did  not  say  anything,  yet  one  of  his  shy 
smiles  was  winged  to  June  across  the  table.  She 
promptly  sent  back  a  scowl  quite  feral  in  its  truculence, 
which  yet  was  softened  by  a  world  of  eloquence  and 
humour  behind  it.  There  was  no  other  way  of  intimat- 
ing that  Uncle  Si  must  not  learn  too  soon  that  the 
picture  was  now  hers. 

William,  no  fool,  if  he  chose  to  use  his  wits,  was 
able  to  interpret  this  wireless.  Thus  he  began  to  tem- 
porise; and  he  did  so  in  a  way  delightfully  his  own. 

"What  difference,  sir,  do  you  think  the  signature 
would  make  to  our  little  masterpiece?" 


60  THE   VAN    ROON 

The  old  man  gave  his  assistant  a  look  almost  super- 
human in  its  caution. 

"Heh?"saidhe. 

The  question  was  repeated. 

"Depends  whose  it  is,"  was  the  testy  answer.  "You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  If  it's  Hobbema's,  it  might 
be  worth  money." 

"It  isn't  Hobbema's." 

"Ah!"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques.  "Interesting  to 
know  that."  Had  he  been  on  winking  terms  with  his 
niece,  he  would  have  winked  at  her ;  as  it  was,  he  had 
to  be  content  with  a  sarcastic  glance  at  the  tablecloth. 
"But  how  do  you  know?"  he  added,  idly  careless. 

"Anyone  can  see  it  isn't." 

Anyone  could  not  see  it  wasn't  a  Hpbbema,  and  that 
was  the  snag  in  the  mind  of  the  old  man  at  this  moment. 
Neither  Mr.  Thornton  nor  his  friend,  Mr.  Finch,  was 
quite  certain  it  was  not  a  Hobbema;  they  were  even 
inclined  to  think  that  it  was  one,  but  in  the  absence  of 
proof  they  were  not  disposed  to  gamble  upon  it. 

"How  do  you  mean,  boy,  that  anyone  can  see  it 
isn't?" 

"That  gleam  of  sunlight,  sir."  The  voice  of  William 
was  music  and  poetry  in  the  ear  of  June.  "I  doubt 
whether  even  Hobbema  could  have  painted  that." 

"You  tell  that  to  the  Marines,"  said  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques impatiently.  All  the  same  he  knew  better  than 
to  discourage  William  in  the  process  of  unbosoming 
himself.  The  young  man  was  continually  betraying 
such  a  knowledge  of  a  difficult  and  abstruse  subject  that 
it  was  becoming  a  source  of  wonder  to  his  master. 
"Maybe  you've  found  somebody  else's  signature?" 
The  tone  was  half  a  sneer. 


THE    VAN    ROON  61 

"Yes,  sir,  I  rather  think  I  have,"  said  William 
quite  calmly  and  simply. 

"You  have !"  A  sudden  excitement  fused  the  cold 
voice.  "When  did  you  find  it?" 

"It  would  be  about  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Oh,  indeed !"  said  the  old  man. 

This  queer  fellow's  casual  tone  was  extremely  puz- 
zling. Why  should  he  be  inclined  to  apologise  for  hav- 
ing discovered  the  name  of  the  artist,  when  it  was  of 
such  vital  importance?  The  only  possible  explanation 
of  the  mystery  at  once  presented  itself  to  the  astute 
mind  which  asked  the  question. 

"Then  I  expect  you've  been  a  fool.  If  you  couldn't 
find  Hobbema's  signature  you  had  no  right  to  find  the 
signature  of  anyone  else." 

William  was  out  of  his  depth.  He  could  only  regard 
his  master  with  eyes  of  bewilderment.  But  June  was 
not  out  of  hers;  she  was  careful,  all  the  same,  not  to 
regard  Uncle  Si  with  eyes  of  any  kind.  She  merely 
regarded  her  plate.  And  as  she  did  so,  a  little  shiver 
that  was  almost  pain  ran  through  her.  Uncle  Si  was 
such  a  deep  one  that  she  felt  ashamed  of  knowing  how 
deep  he  was. 

"I  don't  understand,  sir,"  said  William,  in  the  way 
that  only  he  could  have  spoken. 

"Boy,"  said  his  master,  "you  make  me  tired.  In 
some  ways  you  are  clever,  but  in  others  you  are  just 
the  biggest  idiot  that  ever  happened.  I  should  have 
thought  a  child  would  have  known  that  this  has  either 
got  to  be  a  Hobbema  or  it  has  got  to  be  nothing.  The 
best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  upstairs  right  now  and 
take  out  that  signature," 


62  THE   VAN    ROON 

"But  I  understood  you  to  say,  sir,  that  the  picture 
has  no  market  value  without  a  signature." 

"No  more  it  has,  you  fool.  But  there  may  be  those 
who  think  it's  a  Hobbema.  And  if  there  are,  it  is  up 
to  us  to  help  them  to  keep  on  thinking." 

June  hung  breathlessly  on  every  word  that  passed. 
She  watched  William  shake  his  head  in  slow  and  grave 
perplexity. 

"But  anybody  can  see  that  it  isn't  a  Hobbema." 

"Anybody  can't,"  said  the  old  man.  "Mr.  Thornton 
can't  for  one,  and  he's  a  pretty  good  judge,  as  a  rule. 
Mr.  Finch  is  more  doubtful,  but  even  he  wouldn't  like 
to  swear  to  it." 

William  shook  his  head. 

"Boy,  you  are  a  fool.  You  are  getting  too  clever ; 
you  are  getting  above  your  trade.  Go  at  once  and  take 
out  that  signature,  whatever  it  may  be,  provided  it 
isn't  Hobbema's,  and  I'll  give  you  two  pounds  for  the 
thing  as  it  stands.  And  let  me  tell  you  two  pounds  is 
money." 

William  shook  his  head  a  little  more  decisively. 

"I'd  have  to  paint  out  the  trees,"  he  said,  "and  the 
water,  and  that  cloud,  and  that  gleam  of  sunlight  before 
I  could  begin  to  touch  the  signature." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  a  Van  Roon,"  said  William,  in  a  voice  so  gentle 
that  he  might  have  been  speaking  to  himself. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  laid  his  knife  on  his  plate  with  a 
clatter.  He  gave  an  excited  snort.  "Van  Fiddlestick !" 

William's  smile  grew  so  intense  that  June  could 
hardly  bear  to  look  at  him. 

"Every  inch  of  it,"  said  William,  "and  there  are  not 
so  many,  is  Van  Roon." 


THE   VAN    ROON  63 

"Why,  there  are  only  about  a  dozen  Van  Roons  in 
existence,"  said  the  old  man,  a  queer  little  shake  com- 
ing into  his  voice. 

"There's  one  more  now,  sir."  William's  own  voice 
was  curiously  soft. 


XI 


TF  you  go  on  like  this,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques, 
J[  after  a  pause,  full  of  drama,  "you  will  have  to 
have  a  cold  compress  put  on  your  head.    Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  you  have  actually  found  the  signature?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  William,  "right  down  in  the  corner 
about  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  say  so  instead  of  keeping  it 
all  to  yourself?" 

"Because  it  doesn't  seem  half  so  important  as  the 
other  things  I've  found." 

"What  other  things?" 

"The  trees  and  the  water  and  that " 

"We've  heard  more  than  enough  about  those.  Here 
have  you  been  rubbing  for  that  signature  for  the  best 
part  of  a  fortnight,  and  you  pretend  to  have  found  a 
Van  Roon,  and  you  keep  it  as  close  as  the  tomb." 

"I  had  found  Van  Roon,  sir,  long  before  I  came  upon 
his  name." 

"Rubbish!    What  do  you  know  of  Van  Roon?" 

"There  is  a  Van  Roon  in  the  treasure  house  in  the 
Square,"  said  William  with  his  inward  smile. 

"There's  only  one,"  snapped  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  "in 
the  treasure  house  in  the  Square,  as  you  call  it,  and  it's 
a  very  small  one,  too." 

"Ours  is  very  small,  sir.  All  Van  Roons  are  small, 
And  they  are  very  scarce." 

"They  are  so  scarce,  my  friend,  that  you'll  never 
convince  anybody  that  ours  is  genuine." 
64 


THE   VAN    ROON  65 

"There's  no  need,  sir,  provided  you  know  it  is  your- 
self." 

"But  that's  just  what  I  don't  know,"  said  the  old 
man.  "Anyhow  you  had  better  go  upstairs  and  fetch 
it.  I'll  have  a  look  at  the  signature  of  Mynheer  Van 
Roon."  And  then  Uncle  Si  scowled  at  his  niece  who, 
in  a  state  of  growing  excitement,  had  already  begun  to 
remove  the  bread  and  cheese  from  the  supper  table. 

While  the  young  man  went  up  to  the  attic,  his  master 
ruminated. 

"Fellow's  cracked,"  he  declared,  a  hostile  eye  still 
fixed  upon  June.  "That's  his  trouble.  I'll  never  be 
able  to  make  anything  of  him.  This  comes  of  Hob- 
bemaising.  Van  Fiddlestick !" 

"Uncle  Si,"  said  June,  in  the  voice  of  a  dove,  "if 
it  is  a  Van  Roon,  what  is  the  value  of  it?" 

"Heh?"  growled  Uncle  Si,  and  his  eye  became  that 
of  a  kite.  "Never  you  mind.  Get  on  with  the  clearing 
of  that  table,  and  don't  interfere.  I  never  knew  such 
creatures  as  women  for  minding  other  people's  busi- 
ness. But  I  can  tell  you  this,  only  a  born  fool  would 
talk  of  Van  Roon." 

A  born  fool  came  down  the  stairs  at  that  moment, 
the  picture  in  one  hand,  a  microscope  in  the  other. 

"It's  not  a  very  good  light,  sir — "  William's  voice 
trembled  a  little — "but  I  think  if  you  hold  it  up  to  the 
gas,  you  will  be  able  to  see  the  signature  right  down  in 
the  corner.  Just  there,  sir,  along  by  my  thumb." 

The  old  man,  glass  in  hand,  brought  a  close  scrutiny 
to  bear  upon  the  spot  along  by  William's  thumb.  Then 
he  shook  his  head. 

"No,  it  is  just  as  I  thought.  There  doesn't  begin  to 
be  the  sign  of  a  signature." 


66  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Don't  you  see  the  upstroke  of  the  R?" 

"Don't  I  see  the  leg  of  my  grandmother !" 

"Just  there,  sir.  Round  by  the  edge  of  my  finger 
nail." 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  solemnly  exchanged  his  "sell- 
ing" spectacles  for  his  "buying"  ones,  screwed  up  his 
eyes  and  grunted:  "Why,  that's  the  tail  of  a  Q,  you 
fool."  Again  he  took  up  the  microscope  and  made 
prodigious  play  with  it.  "That's  if  it's  anything. 
Which  I  take  leave  to  doubt." 

William,  however,  was  not  to  be  moved.  And  then 
Uncle  Si's  manner  had  a  bad  relapse.  He  began  to 
bully.  William,  all  the  same,  stuck  to  his  guns  with  a 
gentle  persistence  that  June  could  only  admire.  This 
odd  but  charming  fellow  would  have  Van  Roon,  or  he 
would  have  none. 

At  last  the  old  man  laid  the  microscope  on  the  supper 
table,  and  there  came  into  his  cunning,  greedy  eyes 
what  June  called  the  "old  crocodile"  look.  "If  you'll 
take  my  advice,  boy,  you'll  turn  that  R  into  an  A,  and 
you'll  make  that  upstroke  a  bit  longer,  so  that  it  can 
stand  for  an  H,  and  you'll  touch  up  those  blurs  in  the 
middle,  so  that  ordinary  common  people  will  really  be 
able  to  see  that  it  is  a  Hobbema.  Now  what  do  you 
say?" 

William  shook  a  silent,  rather  mournful,  head. 

"If  you'll  do  that,  you  shall  have  five  pounds  for  it. 
That's  big  money  for  a  daub  for  which  you  paid  five 
shillings,  but  Mr.  Thornton  says  American  buyers  are 
in  the  market,  and  with  Hobbemas  in  short  supply,  they 
might  fall  for  a  thing  like  this.  But  of  course  the  job 
must  be  done  well." 

William  was  still  silent. 


THE   VAN   ROON  67 

"Now  what  do  you  say,  boy?"  The  Old  Crocodile 
was  unable  to  conceal  his  eagerness.  "Shall  we  say 
five  pounds  as  it  stands  ?  We'll  leave  out  the  question 
of  the  signature.  Mr.  Thornton  shall  deal  with  that. 
Now  what  do  you  say?  Five  pounds  for  it  now?" 

William  did  not  speak.  It  was  at  the  tip  of  June's 
tongue  to  relieve  his  embarrassment  by  claiming  the 
picture  as  her  own ;  but,  luckily,  she  remembered  that 
to  do  so  just  now  might  have  an  effect  opposite  to  the 
one  intended.  Even  as  it  was,  she  could  not  refrain 
from  making  a  "mouth"  at  William  to  tell  him  to  stand 
firm. 

He  saw  the  "mouth,"  but  unfortunately  so  did  Uncle 
Si.  There  were  few  things  escaped  the  old  man  when 
he  happened  to  be  wearing  his  "buying"  spectacles. 

"Niece,  you  cut  off  to  bed,"  he  said  sternly.  "And 
you  must  learn  not  to  butt  in,  or  one  of  these  days 
you'll  bite  granite." 

June  showed  no  desire  to  obey,  but  Uncle  Si,  with 
a  look  set  and  dour,  shuffled  as  far  as  the  parlour  door 
and  opened  it.  "No  more  of  it,  my  girl."  The  voice 
was  full  of  menace. 

One  further  instant  June  hesitated.  The  picture  had 
been  given  to  her,  and  the  right  and  proper  course  was 
to  claim  it.  But  this  daughter  of  the  midlands  was 
afraid  of  a  false  move.  The  revelation  sprang  to  the 
tip  of  her  tongue,  yet  a  mysterious  power  seemed  to 
hold  it  back.  She  may  have  expected  help  from  Will- 
iam, but  he,  alas,  seemed  too  much  occupied  in  proving 
his  case  to  be  able  to  give  a  moment's  thought  to  the 
picture's  ownership. 

"Off  to  bed  with  you."    The  old  man's  voice  was 


68  THE   VAN    ROON 

now  savage.  "Or — !"  There  was  a  world  of  meaning 
in  the  strangled  threat. 

June  climbed  up  to  her  attic  with  the  best  grace  she 
could,  her  thunderbolt  unlaunched.  As  slowly  she 
undressed  by  the  uncertain  light  of  one  poor  candle, 
she  felt  very  unhappy.  Not  only  was  there  something 
unpleasant,  one  might  almost  say  wicked,  about  Uncle 
Si,  but  his  manner  held  a  power  of  menace  which  fed 
her  growing  fear. 

What  was  there  to  be  afraid  of?  As  she  blew  out 
the  candle  and  leapt  into  the  meagre,  rickety  bed  which 
had  lumps  in  the  middle,  that  was  the  question  she  put 
to  a  rather  stricken  conscience.  To  ask  the  question 
was  not  to  answer  it;  a  fact  she  learnt  after  she  had 
said  her  prayers  in  which  Uncle  Si  was  dutifully  in- 
cluded. Perhaps  the  root  of  the  mischief  was  that  the 
old  man  was  so  horridly  deceitful.  While  he  held  the 
picture  up  to  the  light,  and  he  gazed  at  it  through  the 
microscope,  she  fancied  that  she  had  seen  the  devil 
peeping  out  of  him.  In  a  vivid  flash  she  had  caught 
the  living  image  of  the  Hoodoo.  And  June  was  as 
certain  as  that  her  pillow  was  hard,  that  cost  what  it 
might  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  get  possession  of  the 
treasure. 

At  the  same  time,  she  lacked  the  knowledge  to  enter 
fully  into  the  niceties  of  the  case.  The  picture  might 
be  a  thing  of  great  value ;  on  the  other  hand  it  might 
not.  She  was  not  in  a  position  to  know ;  yet  she  was 
quite  sure  that  William  in  spite  of  his  cleverness  was 
in  some  ways  a  perfect  gaby,  and  that  his  master  was 
out  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact. 

As  she  sought  in  vain  for  a  soft  place  in  her  com- 
fortless bed,  she  was  inclined  to  admire  her  own  astute- 


THE    VAN    ROON  69 

ness  in  persuading  William  to  bestow  the  picture  upon 
herself.  It  was  for  the  Sawney's  own  sake,  that  at 
least  was  how  she  chose  to  view  the  transaction  now. 
But  a  sense  of  vague  triumph  was  dashed  by  the 
thought  lurking  at  the  back  of  her  mind.  Uncle  Si 
was  bound  to  get  the  picture  from  the  feckless  Will- 
iam somehow;  indeed  the  young  man,  being  as  clay 
in  the  hands  of  his  master,  she  was  soon  besieged  with 
a  fear  that  he  had  parted  with  it  already. 

The  slow  passing  of  the  tardy  minutes  gave  form 
and  pressure  to  this  spectre.  With  an  excitement  that 
grew  and  grew  she  listened  intently  for  William  ascend- 
ing to  the  room  next  door.  Soon  or  late  she  would 
hear  his  feet  on  the  carpetless  stairs ;  but  to  one  burn- 
ing with  impatience  it  seemed  that  an  age  had  to  pass. 

At  last  came  the  sounds  for  which  she  was  so  ex- 
pectantly listening.  The  door  of  the  next  room  was 
softly  closed.  What  had  happened?  Was  the  picture 
still  in  his  keeping?  To  lie  all  night  with  that  question 
unanswered  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Suddenly 
she  jumped  out  of  bed,  flung  a  macintosh  over  her 
white  nightdress,  so  that  the  proprieties  might  be  ob- 
served, thrust  her  feet  into  slippers  and  then  knocked 
upon  William's  door. 

It  was  opened  at  once. 

"Why,  Miss  June!"  Astonishment  was  in  the  tone. 
"Are  you  ill?" 

"The  picture?"  said  June,  in  quick  whisper,  so  that 
Uncle  Si  should  not  hear.  "You  haven't  left  it  down- 
stairs, I  hope?" 

Laughing  gently,  William  half  turned  from  the 
threshold  and  pointed  to  a  small  table  in  the  middle  of 


70  THE  VAN   ROON 

the  room,  on  which  lay  the  treasure  with  a  bit  of  candle 
burning  beside  it. 

A  deep  sigh  expressed  June's  relief.  "Please  give  it 
to  me.  I  will  lock  it  up  in  my  box  for  safety." 

He  smiled  at  her  eagerness,  and  declared  that  it 
was  quite  all  right  where  it  was.  Besides,  another 
week's  work  was  needed  to  give  the  last  touches  to  the 
delicate  process  of  cleaning.  June,  whose  careful  bring- 
ing-up  would  not  allow  her  to  enter  the  room  in  such 
circumstances,  tried  from  its  threshold  to  make  clear 
that  the  picture  was  already  clean  enough  for  her.  But 
William  was  not  be  moved.  Many  exquisite  details  yet 
called  for  the  labours  of  a  true  lover. 

"Well,  you  must  promise,"  whispered  June  finally, 
"to  take  enormous  care  of  it.  You  must  promise  not 
to  let  it  out  of  your  sight  for  a  single  moment." 

William  hesitated  to  give  this  pledge.  It  appeared 
that  his  master  wanted  to  show  the  picture  to  a  friend ; 
a  fact  which  did- but  serve  to  confirm  June  in  her  suspi- 
cions. But  she  had  the  wisdom  not  to  put  them  into 
words.  She  was  content  to  affirm  once  more  that  the 
picture  was  now  hers  and  that  she  would  not  trust 
anyone  with  a  thing  of  such  value. 

"But  I'd  trust  the  master  with  my  life,"  said  William 
softly. 

June  felt  that  she  would  like  to  beat  him  for  his 
innocence,  as  her  manner  plainly  showed.  In  some 
things  he  was  almost  too  simple  to  live. 

Suddenly  she  gave  him  a  stern  good-night,  and 
abruptly  closed  the  door.  But  it  was  long  after  Saint 
Martin's  Church  had  struck  the  hour  of  two  that  sleep 
visited  her  pillow. 


XII 


THE  next  day  was  Saturday;  and  as  the  shop 
closed  at  one,  June  prepared  to  keep  her  promise 
of  accompanying  William  to  his  "treasure  house." 
Strategy  was  needed,  all  the  same.  After  she  had 
washed  up,  she  put  on  her  "going  out"  dress.  But  when 
she  came  downstairs  in  it,  Uncle  Si,  who  took  a  most 
unwelcome  interest  in  all  her  movements,  inquired 
what  was  in  the  wind. 

"I'm  going  to  look  at  a  hat,"  was  the  answer,  bland 
and  cool. 

"Going  to  look  at  a  hat !"  To  the  mind  of  Uncle  Si 
it  was  an  unheard-of  proceeding.  "Next  thing  you'll 
be  wanting  to  buy  a  hat." 

June  confessed  that  it  might  be  so. 

"You've  got  one  already,  haven't  you?  Besides,  the 
shops  won't  be  open." 

The  good  shops  might  not  be  open,  June  allowed. 
But  she  was  not  seeking  a  good  hat.  The  article  to 
which  her  fancy  turned  was  for  every-day  use;  yet 
when  all  was  said  it  was  a  mere  blind.  She  did  not 
really  intend  to  buy  a  hat,  but  she  certainly  meant  if 
possible,  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  Old  Crocodile. 
Had  he  been  able  to  guess  that  she  was  going  with 
William  to  the  National  Gallery  he  would  have  banned 
the  expedition. 

In  order  to  stand  well  with  her  conscience  and  not 
71 


72  THE   VAN   ROON 

be  a  story  teller  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  June  walked 
as  far  as  the  Strand,  and  carefully  inspected  the  win- 
dow of  a  cheap  milliner's.  And  then,  as  arranged,  she 
met  William  as  the  clocks  were  striking  three  at  the 
Charing  Cross  corner  of  Trafalgar  Square. 

It  was  a  glorious  September  afternoon.  And  for 
June  it  was  an  exquisite  if  brief  escape  from  servitude. 
She  had  yet  to  see  William  apart  from  the  shop,  yet 
now,  as  she  came  upon  him  standing  by  the  post  office, 
she  was  quite  struck  by  his  appearance.  Tall  and  slight 
of  form,  he  carried  himself  well,  his  neat  suit  of  blue 
serge,  old  though  it  was  in  the  revealing  light  of  the 
sun,  was  brushed  with  scrupulous  care,  and  his  large 
flowing  tie  which  he  had  the  art  of  tying  in  a  way  of 
his  own,  made  him  look  so  interesting  that  June  secretly 
was  rather  proud  of  being  seen  in  his  company.  For 
undeniably  he  was  handsome.  In  fact,  standing  there 
straight,  alert  and  smiling  upon  the  world,  he  had  a 
look  of  mysterious  charm  which  in  the  eye  of  one  be- 
holder raised  him  above  the  run  of  men. 

At  the  sight  of  June,  he  lifted  his  old  straw  hat  with 
a  little  air  of  homage,  and  also  with  a  slight  blush  that 
became  him  adorably.  And  in  his  mood  there  was  a 
poetry  that  delighted  her,  although  she  was  careful 
not  to  let  him  know  it. 

"How  wonderful  it  all  is!"  He  waved  his  hand 
gaily  to  the  sky.  "And  to  think  that  every  bit  of  it 
belongs  to  you  and  me!" 

June,  as  matter-of-fact  a  young  woman  as  the  city 
of  Blackhampton  had  ever  produced,  felt  bound  to  ask 
what  William  meant  by  this  extravagant  remark. 
Charmed  she  was,  and  yet  she  was  a  little  scandalised 
too. 


THE   VAN    ROON  73 

"Beauty,  beauty  everywhere,"  said  the  young  man, 
letting  his  voice  take  its  delicious  fall.  "There  was  an 
old  Frenchman  who  said,  that  to  see  Beauty  is  to  pos- 
sess it.  Look,  Miss  June,  at  that  marvellous  blue,  and 
those  wonderful,  wonderful  clouds  that  even  Van  Roon 
himself  could  hardly  have  painted.  It  is  all  ours,  you 
know,  all  for  our  enjoyment,  all  for  you  and  me." 

"But  you  are  speaking  of  the  world,  aren't  you?" 
There  was  a  slight  note  of  protest  in  June's  solemn  tone. 

"If  you  fall  in  love  with  beauty,  all  the  world  is 
yours.  There's  no  escape  from  beauty  so  long  as  the 
sky  is  above  us.  No  matter  where  we  walk  we  are 
face  to  face  with  beauty." 

June  was  afraid  that  a  girl  who  looked  so  smart  in 
a  lilac  silk  dress  and  a  picture  hat  that  she  had  the 
air  of  a  fashion  plate  must  have  caught  William's  in- 
judicious observation.  At  any  rate,  she  smiled  at  him 
as  they  passed.  But  then  arose  the  question,  had  he 
not  first  smiled  at  her  ?  Certainly,  to  be  up  against  that 
intriguing  frock,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hat,  must  have 
meant  rare  provocation  for  such  an  out-and-out  lover 
of  the  ornamental. 

Miss  Grandeur,  no  doubt,  had  caught  the  look  in  his 
eyes  which  a  minute  ago  June  herself  had  surprised 
there.  He  simply  could  not  help  paying  tribute  to  such 
radiance. 

But  was  the  girl  beautiful?  There  was  no  doubt 
that  William  thought  so.  Still,  the  worst  of  it  was 
that  in  his  eyes  everything  under  the  sun  was  beautiful. 

"She'd  be  nothing  at  all  if  it  were  not  for  the  money 
she  spends  on  herself,"  June  remarked,  with  more 
severity  that  relevance. 

All  the  same  it  was  a  rare  experience  to  walk  abroad 


74  THE   VAN   ROON 

with  William.  He  had  an  eye  for  all  things  and  in 
all  things  he  found  the  thing  he  sought. 

On  the  steps  of  the  National  Gallery  was  a  majestic 
policeman.  To  June  he  was  but  an  ordinary  symbol 
of  the  law,  but  for  William  he  had  a  different  message. 

"Good  morning,  sir !" 

At  the  compliment  of  this  unwonted  style  of  address, 
Constable  X  drew  himself  up,  and  returned  the  greeting 
with  a  proud  smile. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  we  are  to  you,"  said 
William,  "for  taking  such  care  of  our  treasures." 

The  policeman  seemed  rather  amused.  "It's  my  job," 
he  said,  training,  at  the  same  time,  upon  June  an  eye 
of  quizzical  intelligence.  It  was  odd,  yet  all  in  a  mo- 
ment Constable  X  had  ceased  to  be  a  stern-looking 
fellow. 

As  soon  as  William  crossed  the  threshold  of  his 
treasure  house,  a  kind  of  rapture  came  upon  him.  His 
voice  grew  hushed.  And  to  June  it  seemed  doubtful 
whether  he  would  ever  get  beyond  the  Hermes  on  the 
main  staircase.  Once  within  this  palace  of  many  en- 
chantments, he  began  to  lose  all  sense  of  time  and 
place ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  soul  of 
chivalry,  he  even  seemed  in  danger  of  forgetting  that 
he  was  accompanied  by  a  lady. 

Troubled  at  last  by  the  silence  of  her  escort,  June 
gently  observed:  "This  place  seems  nearly  as  big  as 
the  Blackhampton  Art  Museum." 

To  William's  fine  perception  it  was  a  delicate  re- 
minder that  art  is  eternal,  and  that  in  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember the  National  Gallery  closes  at  six. 

The  young  man  sighed  deeply  and  turned  away  from 


THE    VAN    ROON  75 

the  Hermes.  Up  the  main  staircase  they  walked  side 
by  side. 

"Keep  straight  on,  Miss  June.  If  we  glance  /to  the 
right  or  the  left,  we  may  not  get  to  the  Van  Roon  be- 
fore next  Saturday." 

"We !"  was  June's  thought.  "Better  speak  for  your- 
self. In  the  Blackhampton  Art  Museum  we  have  things 
far  nicer  than  a  few  old  chipped  statues."  Happily,  for 
the  time  being  at  least,  it  remained  a  thought  without 
words. 

They  went  through  a  room  on  the  right,  and  then 
into  an  inner  room.  June  was  led  to  its  farthest  corner, 
and  proudly  marshalled  into  the  presence  of  an  ob- 
ject so  small,  and  so  insignificant,  that  she  felt  it  was 
really  surprising  that  even  William  should  attach  the 
least  importance  to  it. 

However,  a  mere  glance  proved  that  it  was  not  so 
surprising  after  all.  The  picture  contained  a  cloud, 
a  tree,  some  water  and  a  windmill.  And  these  objects 
in  themselves  so  trivial,  yet  sufficed,  as  June  had  learned 
already,  to  raise  William  at  any  time  to  the  seventh 
heaven  of  bliss. 

A  moment's  inspection  of  the  picture  was  enough  for 
June.  To  her  mind  the  work  was  quite  commonplace. 
Yet  William  stood  in  front  of  it  in  an  attitude  of  silent 
adoration,  his  head  a  little  to  once  side,  and  apparently 
holding  his  breath  for  such  a  long  period  that  June  be- 
gan to  wonder  how  the  trick  was  done.  She  was  bound 
in  honour  to  share  this  silent  ecstasy,  but  having  varied 
the  proceedings  a  little  by  standing  first  on  her  right 
foot,  and  then  on  her  left,  she  decided  at  last  to  throw 
up  her  part. 

Very  gently  she  put  an  end  to  William's  reverie. 


76  THE   VAN    ROON 

"I  think  I  will  sit  down,"  said  June. 

"Please,  please  do!"  The  queer  fellow  came  back 
with  a  start  to  the  world  of  reality.  "Let  us  sit  over 
there  on  the  corner  of  that  sofa.  Perhaps  we  may  be 
able  to  see  it  even  better  then  than  we  do  now." 

To  the  sofa  they  went  accordingly  and  to  June's  dis- 
comfiture her  mentor  was  at  pains  to  dispose  them  both 
in  a  way  that  should  enable  them  to  keep  the  picture  in 
their  eye.  June  had  no  wish  to  keep  the  picture  in  her 
eye.  She  had  had  more  than  enough  of  it  already. 
Besides,  the  large  room  was  full  of  things  vastly  more 
imposing,  much  better  worth  looking  at.  But  William, 
even  seated  on  the  sofa  by  her  side,  was  still  in  thrall 
to  this  remarkable  work. 

There  is  no  saying  how  long  June's  trial  would  have 
lasted,  but  after  it  had  gone  on  for  a  length  of  time 
thai!  began  to  seem  interminable,  it  came  to  an  end  in 
the  most  abrupt  and  dramatic  way.  Without  any 
kind  of  warning,  a  strange  appearance  swam  into  their 
ken.  Uncle  Si,  looking  spruce  and  businesslike,  and 
much  better  dressed  than  usual,  entered  the  room 
through  the  door  behind  them. 


XIII 

JUNE  held  her  breath,  while  S.  Gedge  Antiques  with 
thought  for  nothing  save  the  object  that  had 
brought  him  there,  made  a  bee-line  for  the  picture  at 
which  William  was  still  solemnly  staring.  The  old 
man  put  on  his  spectacles.  Whether  they  were  his 
"buying"  or  his  "selling"  ones,  June  was  unable  to 
decide,  but  whichever  they  might  be  they  had  an  im- 
portant function  to  perform.  Uncle  Si's  long  and  fox- 
like  nose  bent  so  close  to  the  paint  that  it  might  have 
.been  smelling  it. 

June's  instinct  was  to  flee  before  they  were  dis- 
covered. And  perhaps  she  would  have  urged  this 
course  upon  William  had  not  pride  said  no.  She  was 
in  mortal  fear  of  the  old  man,  yet  she  despised  herself 
for  that  emotion.  After  all,  they  were  doing  no  wrong 
in  spending  Saturday  afternoon  in  such  a  very  elevated 
form  of  amusement.  Surely  it  devolved  upon  her  to 
stand  up  to  this  tyrant. 

William,  for  his  part,  was  without  misgiving. 
Thinking  evil  of  none,  least  of  all  his  master,  he  was 
a  little  awed  by  that  odd  arrival,  and  yet  he  was  un- 
feignedly  glad  of  his  presence.  The  simpleton  re- 
garded it  as  a  compliment  to  himself  that  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  should  take  the  trouble  to  come  in  his  own 
person  to  look  at  the  Van  Roon. 

At  last  S.  Gedge  Antiques  turned  away  from  the 
Van  Roon,  and  little  suspecting  who  were  so  near 
77 


78  THE   VAN   ROON 

to  him,  came  full  upon  William  and  June  seated  to- 
gether upon  the  adjacent  sofa.  For  a  moment  it  was 
as  if  a  feather  would  have  knocked  him  down.  He 
could  trust  his  eyes  so  little  that  he  hastily  changed 
his  spectacles. 

"What!"    His  brow  was  thunder.    "You!    Here!" 

June,  ready  to  carry  the  war  into  the  country  of  the 
enemy,  was  prepared  to  offer  a  cool  "Why  not?" 
Happily,  a  second  and  wiser  thought  led  her  to  await 
developments.  Secretly,  Uncle  Si  was  in  a  pretty  rage 
as  June  could  tell  by  the  look  of  him.  But  he  was 
not  one  to  let  his  feelings  override  his  judgment. 
Whatever  they  were,  they  could  keep.  He  had  come 
there  for  a  particular  purpose;  this  afternoon  he  was 
bent  on  business  only. 

In  the  rasping  voice  which  made  June  think  of  a 
file  and  sandpaper,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  remarked:  "Still 
Hobbemaising,  eh?" 

William  modestly  admitted  that  he  hoped  Miss  June 
would  have  a  look  at  The  Avenue. 

"Let's  hope  she'll  be  the  better  for  it."  The  old  man 
did  his  best  to  be  polite.  "It  will  improve  her  mind,  no 
doubt." 

"But  we  have  come  to  see  the  Van  Roon,  sir,"  said 
William  impulsively. 

"Oh,  you  have."  There  was  a  sudden  narrowing  of 
foxy  eyes.  "Seems  to  me,  boy,  you've  got  Van  Roon 
on  the  brain." 

William  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  master's  tone 
of  playfulness,  but  June  did  not  laugh.  She  knew  but 
too  well  that  as  far  as  Uncle  Si  was  concerned,  Van 
Roon  was  an  exceedingly  serious  matter. 

"You  are  wise,  boy" — the  old  man  tried  very  hard 


THE   VAN    ROON  79 

to  keep  the  sneer  out  of  his  voice — "to  come  and  find 
out  what  a  Van  Roon  really  looks  like." 

William  modestly  said  that  he  thought  he  knew  that 
already. 

His  master  shook  the  head  of  wisdom.  "Judging 
by  the  way  you've  been  going  on  lately  I  take  leave  to 
doubt  it.  If  you  can  trace  the  slightest  resemblance  to 
that  thing  of  ours" — as  Uncle  Si  half  turned  to  point 
to  the  picture,  June  noticed  that  he  was  careful  to  say 
"ours" — "I'm  afraid,  boy,  you're  qualifying  for  Colney 
Hatch." 

William  laughed  gaily  at  his  master's  humour.  He 
felt  bound  in  honour  to  do  so,  since  the  jokes  from  that 
•quarter  were  thin  and  few.  But  June  did  not  laugh. 
Something  cold,  subtle,  deadly,  was  creeping  into  her 
heart. 

The  old  fox  struck  an  attitude  before  the  Van  Roon. 
"How  a  man  who  has  his  wits  can  compare  that  daub 
of  ours  with  this  acknowledged  masterpiece  passes  me 
altogether." 

As  a  fact,  William  had  not  exactly  compared  his 
Crowdham  Market  purchase  with  Number  2020  in  the 
official  catalogue.  He  had  merely  affirmed  that  it  was 
by  the  same  hand. 

June  was  privileged  to  hear  great  argument.  And 
as  at  her  birth  a  kind  fairy  had  bestowed  the  gift 
of  penetration  upon  her,  she  listened  to  all  that  passed 
with  a  fixity  of  mind  that  was  almost  painful.  Care- 
fully weighing  the  pros  and  the  cons  as  they  were 
advanced,  she  was  fully  determined  to  get  a  real  insight 
into  the  merits  of  a  most  singular  and  perplexing 
matter. 

Who  was  in  the  right?    It  was  the  opinion  of  Will- 


80  THE   VAN    ROON 

iam  against  the  opinion  of  Uncle  Si.  From  the  first 
she  had  had  horrid  doubts  of  the  old  man's  sincerity, 
yet  she  must  not  prejudge  so  grave  an  issue.  Account 
must  be  taken,  moreover,  of  the  entire  range  of  Will- 
iam's fantastic  ideas.  The  thought  was  not  pleasant, 
but  on  the  face  of  it,  Uncle  Si  was  likely  to  be  far  the 
safer  guide  of  the  two. 

As  June  listened,  however,  to  the  wheedling  sneers 
of  the  one  and  the  forthright  tone  of  the  other,  almost 
too  transparent  in  its  honesty,  she  could  only  conclude 
that  Uncle  Si  was  deliberately  cheapening  William's 
discovery  for  purposes  of  his  own. 

Looking  at  the  masterpiece  on  the  opposite  wall,  with 
what  June  was  only  too  keenly  aware  were  the  eyes 
of  ignorance,  it  was  impossible  to  deny  an  extraor- 
dinary similarity  of  subject  and  treatment.  And  this, 
as  she  perceived  at  once,  was  where  Uncle  Si  overdid 
it  He  would  not  allow  that  to  the  vision  of  a  techni- 
cal expert,  the  possession  of  which  he  did  not  scruple 
now  to  claim  for  himself,  there  was  the  slightest  re- 
semblance. Such  similarities  as  might  exist  on  the 
surface  to  delude  the  untutored  eye  he  explained  away 
in  a  flood  of  words  whose  force  was  intended  to  con- 
vince them  both.  But  he  convinced  neither.  June, 
pinning  her  wits  to  a  plain  argument,  smiled  secretly 
as  more  than  once  he  contradicted  himself.  William 
on  the  other  hand,  was  not  permitted  by  the  love  and 
reverence  he  bore  his  master,  to  submit  his  speeches 
to  the  scale.  He  took  his  stand  upon  the  divine 
instinct  that  was  his  by  right  of  birth.  Such  being  the 
case  he  could  but  gently  dissent  from  the  old  man.  It 
was  one  of  his  peculiarities  that  the  surer  he  was,  the 
more  gentle  he  grew.  And  therein,  as  June  perceived, 


THE   VAN   ROON  81 

he  differed  strangely  from  Uncle  Si  who  could  only 
render  conviction  in  terms  of  vehemence. 

Finally,  as  a  clincher,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  growled: 
"Boy,  you  talk  like  a  fool !"  and  head  in  air,  marched 
with  the  aid  of  his  knobby  walking  stick  out  of 
William's  treasure  house. 

William  and  June  having  stood  to  talk  with  the  old 
man,  now  sat  down  again. 

"Thank  goodness  he's  gone!"  said  June. 

William  confessed  that  the  master  had  puzzled  him 
considerably. 

"  'Tisn't  like  him  to  close  his  eyes  to  the  facts  of  a 
case.  I  can't  think  what  has  happened  to  the  master. 
He  hardly  ever  makes  a  mistake." 

Said  June  sagaciously:  "Uncle  Si  being  so  wise  about 
most  things,  isn't  it  likely  that  the  mistake  is  yours?" 

"It  may  be  so,"  William  allowed.  But  at  once  he 
added,  with  a  divine  simplicity:  "I  will  stake  my  life, 
all  the  same,  Miss  June,  that  our  picture  is  a  Van 
Roon." 

"Or  a  clever  forgery,  perhaps." 

"No,  no.  As  sure  as  you  and  I  sit  here,  only  one 
hand  painted  that  little  thing  of  ours." 

"Then  why  should  Uncle  Si  declare  that  it  doesn't  in 
the  least  resemble  a  Van  Roon?" 

"Ah,  that  I  don't  know.  It  is  very  strange  that  he 
should  be  so  blind  to  the  truth.  As  I  say,  it  is  the  first 
time  I  have  known  it  to  happen." 

"It  may  be,"  said  June,  "that  this  is  the  first  time 
there  has  been  so  much  money  in  the  case." 

William  dissented,  gravely.  "The  master  would 
never  let  money  influence  him  in  a  matter  of  this  kind." 


82  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Uncle  Si  lets  money  influence  him  in  matters  of 
every  kind." 

William  shook  his  head.  "I  am  afraid  you  don't 
quite  understand  the  master,"  he  said,  with  a  wonder- 
ful look  in  his  deep  eyes. 

June  was  too  wise  to  contest  the  point.  He  might 
know  more  about  pictures  than  did  she,  but  when  it 
came  to  human  nature  it  was  another  pair  of  shoes. 
It  made  her  quite  hot  with  anger  to  feel  how  easily 
he  could  be  taken  in. 

Sitting  by  William's  side  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa 
she  made  a  vow.  From  now  on  it  should  be  her  aim 
in  life  to  see  that  Uncle  Si  did  not  get  the  better  of 
this  young  man.  She  had  made  a  good  and  wise  be- 
ginning by  inducing  him  to  bestow  the  picture  upon 
herself,  instead  of  giving  it,  as  so  easily  might  have 
happened,  to  the  Old  Crocodile.  She  knew  that  some 
bad  quarters  of  an  hour  lay  ahead,  in  the  course  of 
which  she  and  her  box  might  easily  find  themselves  in 
the  street;  but  come  what  might,  let  her  cherish  that 
picture  as  if  it  were  life  itself.  For  she  saw  with  a 
startling  clearness  that  William's  future,  and  perhaps 
her  own,  was  bound  up  in  its  fortunes. 

This  surmise  as  to  trouble  ahead  was  borne  out  very 
exactly  by  events.  When  accompanied  by  William  she 
returned  to  tea  in  a  state  as  near  positive  happiness  as 
she  had  ever  known,  Uncle  Si's  aspect  was  so  hostile 
that  it  would  not  have  been  surprising  had  she  been 
sent  packing  there  and  then.  The  presence  of  William 
helped  to  restrain  the  anger  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques, 
since  there  was  more  to  lose  than  to  gain  just  now  by 
fixing  a  quarrel  upon  him ;  but  it  was  clear  that  the  old 
man  did  not  intend  to  pass  over  the  incident  lightly. 


THE   VAN    ROON  83 

"Niece,"  he  began  the  moment  his  cup  had  been 
handed  to  him,  "kindly  tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
gallivanting  about  London." 

A  hot  flame  of  resentment  ran  in  June's  cheek.  But 
she  was  too  proud  to  express  it  otherwise  than  by 
rather  elaborately  holding  her  peace.  She  continued  to 
pour  out  tea  just  as  if  not  a  word  had  been  said  on  the 
subject. 

"It's  my  fault,  sir,"  said  William,  stepping  into  the 
breach  chivalrously,  but  with  an  absence  of  tact.  "Miss 
June  very  kindly  consented  to  come  and  look  at  the 
Van  Roon." 

"There  must  be  no  more  of  it."  Miss  June  received 
the  full  benefit  of  a  north  eye.  "I  will  not  have  you 
going  about  with  a  young  man,  least  of  all  a  young  man 
earning  fifteen  shillings  a  week  in  my  employ." 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  William's  cheek  to  feel  the 
flame,  but  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  fight  over  a  thing 
of  that  kind,  even  had  he  been  in  a  position  to  do  so. 
Besides,  it  hardly  needed  his  master  to  tell  him  that  he 
had  been  guilty  of  presumption. 

Indeed,  the  circumstances  of  the  case  made  it  almost 
impossible  for  either  of  the  culprits  to  defend  such 
conduct  in  the  other's  presence.  Yet  June,  to  the  in- 
tense astonishment  of  Uncle  Si,  and  no  doubt  to  her 
own,  contrived  to  give  battle  in  hostile  territory. 

"I  can  only  say,"  she  remarked,  with  a  fearlessness 
so  amazing  that  Uncle  Si  scalded  his  mouth  by  drinking 
out  of  his  cup  instead  of  out  of  his  saucer,  "that  if 
fifteen  shillings  a  week  is  all  that  William  gets,  it  is 
just  about  time  he  had  a  rise  in  his  wages." 

For  a  moment  Uncle  Si  could  only  splutter.  Then 
he  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped  them  fiercely. 


84  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Gracious  goodness  me !  God  bless  my  body  and  my 
soul !"  June  would  not  have  been  at  all  surprised  had 
the  old  slave-driver  "thrown  a  fit." 

"William  is  very  clever,"  she  said  undaunted. 

"Niece,  hold  your  tongue."  The  words  came  through 
clenched  teeth.  "And  understand,  once  for  all,  that 
I'll  have  no  more  carryings-on.  If  you  don't  look  out, 
you'll  find  your  box  in  the  street." 

Having  put  June  out  of  action,  the  old  man  turned 
his  attention  to  William.  But  with  him  he  walked 
more  delicately.  There  must  be  no  more  Van  Kooning, 
but  the  ukase  was  given  in  a  tone  so  oily  that  June 
just  had  to  smile. 

In  spite  of  his  own  edict,  however,  it  was  clear  that 
Van  Roon  continued  much  in  the  mind  of  William's 
master.  The  next  day,  Sunday,  instead  of  taking  the 
air  of  the  west  central  postal  district,  his  custom  as 
a  rule,  when  the  forenoon  was  fine,  he  spent  most  of 
the  morning  with  the  young  man  in  the  studio.  June 
felt  this  boded  so  ill  that  she  went  about  her  household 
chores  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  She  was  sure  that  Uncle 
Si  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  have  the  picture;  he 
meant,  also,  to  have  it  at  his  own  price.  However,  she 
had  fully  made  up  hers  that  this  tragedy  simply  must 
not  occur. 


XIV 

JUNE,  preparing  for  dinner  a  Yorkshire  pudding, 
brought  an  acute  mind  to  bear  on  the  still  graver 
problem  before  it.  What  would  happen  when  Uncle 
Si  found  out  that  William  had  been  persuaded  to  give 
her  the  picture?  It  was  a  question  she  was  bound  to 
ask,  yet  she  dare  not  foretell  the  answer.  William  and 
she  were  completely  in  his  power.  Wholly  dependent 
upon  the  food  and  lodging  the  old  man  provided  and 
the  few  shillings  a  week  with  which  he  grudgingly 
supplemented  them,  they  could  not  afford  to  come  to 
an  open  breach  with  him ;  at  the  same  time  to  June's 
practical  mind,  it  would  be  an  act  of  sheer  madness  to 
give  up  the  rare  thing  that  fortune  had  put  into  their 
hands. 

Her  need  just  then  was  the  advice  of  some  able  and 
disinterested  friend.  There  was  only  her  power  of 
putting  two  and  two  together  to  tell  her  that  the  picture 
might  be  worth  a  large  sum.  And  even  that  did  not 
allow  her  to  know  for  certain ;  she  must  find  a  means 
of  making  sure.  Unhappily,  there  was  not  one  person 
in  the  world  to  whom  she  could  turn  for  advice,  unless 
it  was  William  himself ;  and  in  plain  matters  of  business 
he  seemed  so  hopelessly  at  sea — if  they  involved  deal- 
ings with  his  master  at  all  events — that  June  was  con- 
vinced he  would  be  no  use  at  all. 

Beating  up  an  egg  for  the  Yorkshire  pudding,  she 
felt  a  deep  concern  for  what  was  now  taking  place  up 
85 


86  THE   VAN   ROON 

that  second  pair  of  stairs  in  the  garret  next  the  tiles. 
Vainly  she  wished  that  she  had  had  the  sense  to  ask 
William  to  keep  back  as  long  as  possible  the  fact  that 
he  had  given  the  picture  to  her.  But  the  mere  request 
would  have  opened  the  door  to  another  anxiety.  If 
the  picture  was  what  he  thought  it  was,  could  such  a 
gift,  made  in  such  circumstances,  be  regarded  as  irrevo- 
cable ?  That  must  be  left  to  the  giver  himself  to  decide : 
assuming  the  simpleton  had  enough  strength  of  mind 
to  prevent  Uncle  Si  deciding  it  for  him. 

The  pudding  was  just  ready  for  the  oven  when  she 
heard  Uncle  Si  come  downstairs.  He  went  into  the 
parlour,  where  every  Sunday  morning,  with  the  help 
of  the  Exchange  and  Mart  and  half  an  ounce  of  shag, 
he  spent  an  hour  in  meditation.  As  soon  as  the  door 
closed  upon  the  old  man,  June  ran  attic-wards  to  confer 
with  William. 

There  was  no  beating  about  the  bush.  Bursting  in 
upon  him  breathlessly,  she  cried:  "I  hope  you  have  not 
told  Uncle  Si  the  picture  is  mine.  I  had  meant  to  warn 
you  not  to  do  so  on  any  account — not  for  the  present, 
at  least." 

William  looked  up  from  the  treasure  with  his  ab- 
sorbed air;  but  it  appeared  that  as  yet  he  had  not  let 
the  cat  out  of  the  bag. 

"I  am  very  glad."    June  breathed  freely  again. 

"I  thought,"  said  William  sadly,  "it  would  be  best 
not  to  tell  the  master  until  after  his  dinner.  But  I  fear 
that  whenever  he  knows  it  will  upset  him  terribly." 

"Why  should  it?" 

"It's  like  this,  Miss  June — the  master  is  fairly  setting 
his  heart  upon  this  picture." 

"Then  he'd  better  unset  it,"  said  June  harshly. 


THE   VAN   ROON  87 

Trouble  came  unmistakably  into  the  expressive  face 
of  the  picture's  late  owner. 

"I  am  afraid  it  will  be  quite  a  blow  to  him  if  he 
doesn't  get  this  beautiful  thing,"  he  said,  gazing  affec- 
tionately at  what  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"And  yet  he  thinks  so  little  of  it?" 

"Oh  no !  Not  now.  This  morning  after  a  careful 
examination  he's  phanged  his  mind." 

June  was  not  impressed  by  this  face-about  on  the 
part  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques.  "If  you  ask  me,"  she 
declared  scornfully,  "he  changed  his  mind  some  time 
ago.  But  he's  a  bit  too  artful  to  let  you  know  that." 

"But  why?"  said  William  perplexedly. 

"Don't  you  see  that  he  thinks  the  more  he  cheapens 
it  the  easier  it  will  be  to  get  it  from  you?" 

William  could  not  bring  himself  to  take  so  harsh  a 
view. 

"What  does  he  offer  for  it  now?"  the  new  owner  of 
the  Van  Roon  sternly  inquired. 

"You  are  not  fair  to  the  dear  old  master,  believe  me, 
Miss  June."  The  young  man  spoke  with  charming 
earnestness.  "He  has  such  a  reverence  for  beauty  that 
he  cannot  reckon  it  in  terms  of  money.  This  morning 
I  have  brought  him  to  see  with  my  eyes."  Pride  and 
affection  deepened  in  (the  voice  of  the  simpleton.  "He 
has  now  such  a  regard  for  this  lovely  thing  that  he  will 
not  be  happy  until  he  possesses  it,  and  I  shall  not  be 
happy  until  you  have  given  it  to  him." 

June  was  simply  aghast. 

"But — but  it  was  given  to  me !" 

"I  know — I  know."  The  giver  was  pink  with  confu- 
sion. "But  you  see,  Miss  June,  your  uncle  has  quite 
set  his  heart  on  it.  And  I  am  wondering  if  you  will 


88  THE   VAN    ROON 

return  it  to  me,  so  that  I  may  offer  it  to  him,  as  a 
token  of  my  love.  No  one  could  have  had  a  better 
or  kinder  master.  I  owe  everything  to  him."  Sud- 
denly, however,  the  young  man  was  aware  of  her  dis- 
may. "I  do  hope  you  will  not  mind  too  much,"  he  said, 
anxiously.  "If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  give  you  some- 
thing else." 

June  averted  her  eyes.  "You  gave  me  this.  And 
you  can't  believe  how  much  it  means  to  me." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  have  a  great  feeling  for  it.  To 
part  with  it  will  hurt  you,  I  can  see  that.  But  please 
think  of  the  dear  old  master's  disappointment  if  he 
doesn't  get  it." 

"He  merely  wants  it  to  sell  again." 

"You  are  unjust  to  yourself,  Miss  June,  in  thinking 
so.  Money  does  not  enter  into  your  feeling  about  this 
beautiful  thing ;  it  doesn't  enter  into  mine.  Why  should 
it  enter  into  the  master's,  whose  love  of  art  is  so  in- 
tense?" 

"Because  his  love  of  money  is  intenser.  It's  his 
ruling  passion.  Where  are  your  eyes  that  they  can't 
see  a  thing  as  plain  as  that  ?" 

She  must  be  as  gentle  as  she  could  with  this  absurd 
fellow,  yet  she  feared  that  such  words  must  cause  a 
wound.  And  the  wound  was  wilfully  dealt.  It  was  so 
important  that  he  should  be  made  to  see  the  whole  thing 
as  really  and  truly  it  was.  But  her  hope  was  slight  that 
he  would  ever  be  brought  to  do  so. 

"I  beg  you,"  he  said,  almost  with  passion,  "/to  let 
me  have  it  back,  so  that  I  may  give  it  to  the  dear  old 
master." 

"It  is  madness,"  said  June  bitterly.  "He  has  no  true 
feeling  for  the  picture  at  all." 


THE   VAN    ROON  89 

She  saw  that  her  words  were  unwise.  They  made 
her  own  position  worse.  But  faced  by  such  an  appeal 
she  had  to  do  her  best  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"I  know  how  much  it  means  to  you."  Pain  was 
clouding  the  eyes  of  this  dreamer.  "I  know  your  love 
for  it  is  equal  to  mine,  but  that  will  make  our  joy  in 
giving  it  to  your  uncle  so  much  the  greater." 

"But  why  to  Uncle  Si— of  all  people?" 

"He  wants  it."  William's  voice  was  low  and  solemn. 
"At  this  moment,  I  believe  he  wants  it  more  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world." 

June  said  with  scorn:  "He  wants  it  as  much  as  he 
wants  a  thousand  pounds.  And  he  doesn't  want  it 
more.  I  believe  money  is  his  god.  Think  of  the  fifteen 
shilling  he  pays  you  a  week.  It  makes  my  blood  boil." 

A  quick  flush  sprang  to  the  young  man's  cheek. 
"Money  has  nothing  to  do  with  this,  Miss  June." 

"It  has  to  do  with  everything." 

Delicately  he  ventured  to  contradict.  "Where  love 
is,  money  doesn't  come  in.  I  simply  want  to  offer  this 
priceless  thing  to  the  old  master  out  of  a  full  heart,  as 
you  might  say." 

"Then  you  shouldn't  have  parted  with  it."  She  hated 
herself  for  her  words,  but  she  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
soften  them.  "You  have  already  had  the  pleasure  of 
giving  it  to  me,  therefore  it  is  only  right  that  you  should 
now  deny  yourself  the  pleasure  of  giving  it  to  Uncle 
Si.  It  is  like  eating  your  cake  and  having  it." 

William  was  not  apt  in  argument,  and  this  was  co- 
gent reasoning.  He  lacked  the  wit  to  meet  it,  yet  he 
stuck  tenaciously  to  his  guns.  "When  you  realize  what 
this  rare  treasure  means  to  the  old  man,  I'm  sure  you'll 
change  your  mind." 


90  THE   VAN    ROON 

June  shook  her  head.  Secretly,  however,  she  felt 
like  weakening  a  bit.  In  the  wistful  voice  was  a  note 
that  hurt.  But  she  could  not  afford  to  yield;  there 
was  far  too  much  at  stake.  "I  shall  have  to  think  the 
matter  over  very  carefully,"  she  temporised.  "And, 
in  the  meantime,  not  a  word  to  Uncle  Si  that  the  pic- 
ture's mine." 

She  mustered  the  force  of  will  to  exact  a  promise. 
Bewildered,  sad,  a  little  incredulous,  he  gave  it. 

"I  hope  he  doesn't  hate  me  half  as  much  as  I  hate 
myself/'  was  the  swift  and  sickening  thought  that 
annihilated  June,  as  she  ran  from  the  studio,  having 
recollected  with  a  pang  of  dismay  that  she  had  not  put 
in  the  pudding  for  dinner. 


XV 


DINNER  was  a  miserable  meal.  The  Yorkshire 
pudding  was  light,  the  roast  sirloin  was  done  to 
a  turn,  the  potatoes  were  white  and  floury,  the  kidney 
beans  were  tender,  but  June  could  find  nothing  in  the 
way  of  appetite.  The  mere  presence  of  William  at  the 
other  side  of  the  table  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
bear.  So  keen  was  her  sense  of  a  terribly  false  posi- 
tion that  she  dare  not  look  at  him.  What  did  he  think 
of  her?  How  must  she  appear  to  one  all  high-minded 
goodness  and  generosity? 

Surely  he  must  know,  after  what  had  just  passed, 
that  her  love  of  the  picture  was  mere  base  deceit. 
Surely  'he  must  hold  such  an  opinion  of  her  now  that 
he  would  never  believe  or  trust  her  again.  And  the 
tragedy  of  it  was  that  she  could  not  hope  to  make  him 
see  the  real  motive  which  lay  behind  it  all. 

Seated  at  the  table,  making  only  a  pretence  of  eating, 
but  listening  with  growing  anger  and  disgust  to  the 
artful  change  she  now  detected  in  the  tone  of  Uncle 
Si,  it  was  as  if  the  chair  in  which  she  sat  was  poised 
on  the  edge  of  an  abyss.  William  must  despise  her 
quite  as  much  as  she  despised  the  Old  Crocodile,  was 
the  thought  which  turned  her  heart  to  stone. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  having  had  the  wit  to  discover 
the  set  of  the  wind,  had  begun  most  successfully  to 
trim  his  sails.  An  hour's  careful  examination  of  the 
91 


92  THE   VAN    ROON 

picture  that  morning  had  convinced  him  that  he  had 
underrated  its  merits.  There  was  very  good  work  in 
it,  and  as  a  lifelong  lover  of  art — with  a  devout  glance 
at  William — good  work  always  appealed  to  him.  But 
whether  the  thing,  as  a  whole,  was  to  be  rated  as  highly 
as  William  put  it,  was  decidedly  an  open  question. 
Still  the  picture  had  merit,  and  personally  he  should 
treasure  it  as  much  for  William's  sake  as  for  its  own. 

June  realized  that  it  was  now  the  turn  of  this  cun- 
ning old  fox  to  make  love  to  the  Van  Roon's  owner. 
But  was  he  cunninger  than  she  ?  Yet  what  concerned 
her  more  than  anything  just  now  was  the  plain  fact  that 
he  had  already  managed  to  persuade  himself  that  the 
treasure  was  his  property. 

This  was  not  the  hour  to  disabuse  his  mind.  And  no 
matter  when  that  hour  came  she  foresaw  a  dire  quarrel. 
She  was  now  involved  in  a  business  to  strain  all  the 
resources  of  her  diplomacy.  But  William  needed  help. 
Cost  what  it  might  the  task  devolved  upon  her  of  look- 
ing after  his  affairs. 

William,  meanwhile,  in  his  own  peculiar  way,  seemed 
not  averse  from  looking  after  hers.  After  dinner  her 
first  duty  was  to  clear  the  table  and  wash  up;  and  he 
simply  insisted  upon  bearing  a  hand.  He  carried  the 
tray  into  the  back  kitchen,  and  then,  almost  with  defi- 
ance, presided  at  the  washing  of  the  crockery,  while  she 
had  to  be  content  with  the  humbler  office  of  drying  it. 

"It's  your  hands  I'm  thinking  of,  Miss  June." 

"My  hands  are  no  affair  of  yours,"  was  the  terse 
reply. 

The  lover  of  beauty  shyly  declared  that  such  hands 
were  not  meant  for  such  a  task. 

"Nothing  to  write  home  about — my  hands  aren't." 


THE   VAN    ROON  93 

Politely  sceptical,  William  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
bit  of  pumice  stone. 

"It  is  to  take  the  soils  out  of  your  fingers,"  he  said, 
offering  this  talisman  shyly. 

June's  face  was  now  a  tawny  scarlet.  She  did  not 
know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  be  angry.  Yet  how  was 
it  possible  to  be  angry  with  a  creature  who  was  so 
charmingly  absurd? 

"May  I  take  them  out  for  you?" 

The  answer  was  "no." 

But  somehow  her  face  must  have  said  "yes."  For 
without  more  ado,  the  amazing  fellow  took  one  of  her 
hands  and  with  nice  discretion  began  to  apply  the 
pumice  stone. 

"There,  now,"  he  said  finally. 

A  stern  rebuke  trembled  upon  her  lips,  yet  with  the 
best  will  in  the  world  it  could  not  find  a  form  of  words 
whereby  to  get  itself  uttered. 


XVI 

A  LITTLE  later  in  the  day  Uncle  Si  came  into  the 
back  kitchen  where  June  was  at  work.  It  seemed 
that  he  had  an  announcement  to  make. 

"Niece,  there's  a  piece  of  news  for  you.  I've  decided 
to  take  Mrs.  Runciman  back." 

June  saw  no  reason  why  Mrs.  Runciman  should  not 
be  taken  back.  Indeed,  she  would  welcome  the  return 
of  the  charwoman.  It  would  certainly  reduce  the 
burden  of  her  own  labours  which  was  by  no  means 
light. 

"You  and  I  are  not  going  to  hit  it  off,  I  can  see  that. 
Already  there's  been  too  much  of  your  interference. 
Next  thing  you'll  upset  that  boy.  And  I  wouldn't  have 
that  happen — not  for  a  thousand  pounds.  So  I  think 
the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  take  Mrs.  Runciman  back, 
and  get  her  to  find  you  a  job." 

"For  me !"  said  June  slowly.  "Mrs.  Runciman  find 
a  job  for  me !" 

"If  she  comes  you'll  have  to  go.  I  can't  afford 
to  keep  a  couple  o'  women  eating  their  heads  off.  The 
times  don't  run  to  it." 

"What  sort  of  a  job  do  you  expect  a  charwoman 
to  find  for  me?"  June  asked,  biting  her  lip. 

"She  may  know  of  somebody  who  wants  a  domestic 
help.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  you  are  not  fitted  for  any- 
thing else." 

That  was  true  enough,  as  June  felt  with  a  sharp 
94 


THE   VAN    ROON  95 

pang.  She  was  a  girl  without  any  sort  of  training  ex- 
cept in  the  tedium  of  housework.  No  other  career  was 
open  to  her  and  she  was  going  to  be  turned  adrift. 
There  came  a  hot  flame  to  her  cheeks,  a  sting  of  quick 
tears  to  her  eyes.  She  was  a  proud  and  ambitious 
girl ;  never  had  she  felt  so  keenly  humiliated. 

"If  you  stay  here,"  said  Uncle  Si,  "you're  sure  to 
upset  that  boy.  And,  as  I  say,  rather  than  that  should 
happen  I'd  pay  a  thousand  pounds  to  a  hospital." 

June  didn't  reply.  But  in  a  surge  of  feeling  she 
went  up  to  her  attic,  and  with  rage  in  her  heart  flung 
herself  full  length  on  the  bed. 

The  blow  was  fully  expected,  yet  that  hardly  made 
the  weight  of  it  less.  Soon  or  late  this  miser  was 
bound  to  turn  her  out  of  doors;  yet  coming  at  such  a 
time  "the  sack"  was  in  the  nature  of  a  calamity. 

Well,  she  must  face  it !  Domestic  service  was  the 
only  thing  to  which  she  could  turn  her  hand,  and  that, 
she  foresaw,  was  likely  to  prove  a  form  of  slavery.  A 
future,  hard,  confined  and  miserable,  lay  in  front  of 
her. 

Bitterly  she  regretted  now  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  fit  herself  for  some  other  way  of  life.  She  had  had 
a  reasonably  good  education,  as  far  as  it  went,  in  her 
native  town  of  Blackhampton,  where  her  father  at 
one  time  had  been  in  a  moderately  good  position.  But 
he  had  died  when  she  was  fourteen.  And  her  mother, 
with  health  completely  broken  several  years  before  her 
death  had  been  left  so  badly  off  that  June,  perforce,  had 
to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  a  wider  field.  Stifling  vague 
ambitions,  she  had  bravely  submitted  to  the  yoke  but, 
in  spite  of  a  sense  of  duty  honestly,  even  nobly  done, 
the  sequel  was  a  grim  distaste  of  household  drudgery. 


96  THE   VAN    ROON 

And  this  had  not  been  made  less  by  a  month  under  the 
roof  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 

With  a  gnawing  sense  of  misery  that  was  like  a 
toothache,  June  slid  off  the  bed  and  looked  at  herself 
in  the  cracked  mirror  which  adorned  the  crazy  dress- 
ing-table. Her  only  assets  were  comprised  in  her  per- 
sonal appearance.  Instinctively  she  took  stock  of  them. 
Alas,  as  she  beheld  (them  now,  they  were  pretty  much 
a  "washout." 

First  to  strike  her  was  the  tell-tale  redness  of  her 
eyelids,  and  that  disgusted  her  to  begin  with.  But, 
apart  from  that,  she  felt  in  her  own  mind  that  her  per- 
sonality was  not  really  attractive.  Her  education  was 
small,  her  life  had  been  restricted  and  narrow;  and  now 
there  seemed  no  way  out. 

Honestly  she  was  not  pretty,  she  was  not  clever,  and 
she  knew  next  to  nothing  of  the  world.  Even  at  Black- 
hampton,  where  the  supply  of  smart  girls  was  strictly 
limited,  she  had  never  passed  for  anything  out  of  the 
common.  She  had  felt  sometimes  that  her  nature  was 
too  serious.  In  a  girl  a  serious  nature  was  a  handicap, 
she  had  once  heard  Mr.  Boultby,  the  druggist  at  the 
corner  of  Curzon  Street,  remark.  One  "asset,"  how- 
ever, she  certainly  had.  The  mop  of  golden-brown 
hair  had  always  been  her  stand-by,  and  Mr.  Boultby, 
that  man  of  the  world,  had  paid  her  compliments  upon 
it.  An  artist  would  revel  in  it,  he  had  said.  Certainly 
there  was  a  lot  of  it,  and  the  colour  having  aroused 
comment  even  in  her  early  days  at  the  High  School 
among  her  form-mates,  it  was  no  doubt  rather  strik- 
ing. She  was  also  inclined  to  be  tall  and  long  in  the 
leg,  she  knew  that  her  shoulders  and  chest  were  good, 
she  prided  herself  upon  the  neatness  of  her  ankles,  yet 


THE    VAN    ROON  97 

at  the  back  of  her  shrewd  mind  lurked  the  fear  that 
the  general  effect  must  be  plainness,  not  beauty.  She 
had  heard  Mr.  Boultby,  always  a  friend,  describe  her 
as  "unusual,"  but  she  had  felt  that  it  was  his  polite  way 
of  saying  she  was  not  so  good-looking  as  she  might  be. 

No,  wherever  her  fortune  might  lie,  it  was  not  in 
her  face.  Once  or  twice,  in  her  romantic  Blacjk- 
hampton  phases,  which  at  best  were  very  brief  and  few, 
she  had  thought  of  the  stage.  But  one  month  of  Lon- 
don had  convinced  her  that  it  was  not  her  line.  Con- 
sidering her  inexperience  of  life  her  fund  of  horse 
sense  was  rather  remarkable.  She  was  a  great  be- 
liever in  the  doctrine  of  "looking  facts  in  the  face." 
And  the  fact  she  had  to  meet  now  was  that  she  was  not 
in  any  way  pretty  or  talented.  Unless  you  were  one 
or  the  other,  and  London  teemed  with  girls  who  were 
both,  the  doors  of  the  theatre  were  locked  and  barred. 

Back  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  she  began  to  consider 
the  question  of  learning  shorthand  and  typing,  so  that 
she  might  become  a  clerk  in  an  office.  But  her  means 
were  so  scant  that  the  plan  was  hardly  feasible.  Really 
it  seemed  that  no  career  was  open  to  her,  other  than 
the  one  she  loathed.  And  then  the  thought  of  William 
came.  At  once,  by  a  strange  magic,  it  eased  the  pres- 
sure. Heart,  brain  and  will  were  merged  in  an  im- 
mediate task;  she  must  stand  between  this  child  of 
nature  and  the  avarice  of  his  master. 

The  sudden  thought  of  William  brought  courage, 
tenacity,  fighting  power.  She  knew  that  at  this  mo- 
ment he  was  the  other  side  the  wall.  An  impelling  need 
urged  her  to  go  to  him.  Forgetful  of  red  and  swollen 
lids  she  got  up  at  once  and  went  and  knocked  on  the 
studio  door. 


98  THE   VAN    ROON 

A  familiar  voice  said,  "Come  in !" 

William,  as  usual  in  that  room,  was  pottering  about 
amid  oils,  canvasses  and  varnish.  He  was  in  shirt 
sleeves,  he  wore  a  large  apron,  his  shock  of  fair  hair, 
which  gave  him  the  look  of  a  poet,  was  rumpled,  there 
was  a  smudge  on  his  cheek,  but  the  absorption  of  his 
eyes,  their  look  of  intensity,  half  filled  her  with  awe. 

She  had  really  come  to  tell  him  that  she  was  going 
to  be  sent  away.  But  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  in 
his  presence  she  was  overcome  by  sheer  pride.  From 
the  first  this  young  man  had  treated  her  with  a  defer- 
ence which  implied  that  she  was  of  a  clay  superior 
to  his  own.  His  bearing  towards  her  always  stressed 
the  fact  that  she  was  the  niece  of  his  good  master,  and 
that  he  was  a  servant  humbly  grateful  for  his  fifteen 
shillings  a  week. 

At  first  this  attitude  had  fed  her  vanity  in  a  subtle 
way.  But  now,  in  present  circumstances,  it  seemed 
almost  to  enrage  her.  It  was  quite  absurd  that  a  man 
of  such  distinguished  talent  should  place  her  upon  a 
pedestal.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  she  was  unfit 
to  lace  his  shoes,  and  it  was  amazing  that  he  did  not 
know  it. 

Upon  her  entrance  William  had  immediately  risen 
from  his  stool,  and  had  bowed  slightly  over  the  pot  of 
varnish  he  held  in  his  hand,  with  a  half-humorous 
air  of  homage,  as  some  famous  chemist  might  have 
done  when  disturbed  by  a  great  lady  in  the  midst  of 
his  wonderful  researches.  "I  know  it's  not  me  you 
have  come  to  see,"  his  gentle  manner  seemed  to  say; 
"it  is  this  marvellous  thing  on  the  easel  at  my  elbow." 

All  the  same  it  was  William  she  had  come  to  see. 
She  had  come  to  him  for  countenance  and  sympathy. 


THE    VAN    ROON  99 

And  it  did  not  help  her  at  all  that  she  should  be  treated 
with  a  shy  reserve.  She  craved  to  be  told  that  she  had 
come  to  mean  something  to  him ;  she  craved  to  be  told 
that  his  fastidious  concern  for  her  hands,  and  the 
regard  he  had  for  a  beauty  in  which  she  herself  did 
not  believe  was  more  than  mere  chivalry  towards  wo- 
men in  general.  Alas,  in  spite  of  the  eager  friendliness 
of  her  reception  this  was  not  apparent.  In  the  eyes  of 
William  she  was  just  the  master's  niece,  and  the  inci- 
dent of  the  pumice  stone  was  without  significance,  be- 
yond the  fact  that  he  was  no  more  than  the  least  of 
her  servants. 

It  was  very  exasperating. 

"But  if  you  are  wise,"  said  a  voice  within,  "you 
will  not  let  this  Gaby  know  that  you  think  so." 


XVII 

TUNE  spent  a  worried  and  disconsolate  night.  She 
J  had  very  little  sleep.  Time  and  again  she  listened 
to  the  melancholy  drip-drip  of  rain  on  the  eaves  just 
over  her  head.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  felt  so 
wretched.  She  was  horribly  lonely,  without  resources 
or  friends.  How  she  was  to  live  through  the  endless 
years  of  servitude  and  dependence  on  the  will  of  others 
that  lay  ahead  she  did  not  know. 

To  keep  on  telling  oneself  to  bear  up  seemed  of  little 
use.  She  had  had  to  do  that  each  hour  of  each  day 
since  her  mother's  death.  The  prospect  of  being  cast 
upon  the  world  was  indeed  dispiriting,  yet  in  the  end 
it  might  turn  out  better  than  to  sacrifice  one's  youth 
upon  the  altar  of  such  a  Moloch  as  Uncle  Si. 

As  people  who  sleep  ill  are  apt  to  do,  she  fell  into 
a  comfortable  doze  just  about  the  time  she  ought  to 
be  getting  up.  Thus,  to  her  dismay,  she  entered  upon 
the  trying  institution  known  as  Monday  morning  at  a 
quarter  past  seven  instead  of  half  past  six. 

"Uncle  Si  will  be  growling  for  his  breakfast  in  an- 
other quarter  of  an  hour,"  was  the  thought  that  urged 
her  into  her  clothes  with  a  frantic  haste.  One  twist 
she  gave  and  no  more,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  in 
the  glass,  at  the  mane  of  brown  gold  hair,  and  then  she 
flew  downstairs,  buttoning  the  front  of  her  dress. 

A  fire  was  burning  in  the  kitchen  grate,  and  upon  it 
slices  of  bacon  were  sizzling  in  a  frying-pan ;  the  cloth 
100 


THE   VAN    ROON  101 

was  laid  for  breakfast ;  moreover,  the  parlour  was  al- 
ready swept  and  dusted.  In  fact,  at  the  precise  moment 
of  June's  belated  appearance  upon  the  scene,  William, 
with  a  businesslike  air,  was  returning  from  a  visit  to 
the  dustbin. 

When  they  met  in  the  passage  by  the  scullery  she 
came  within  an  ace  of  rebuking  him.  "Even  if  I  over- 
sleep myself  you've  no  right  to  be  so  officious,"  was 
the  sharp  phrase  which  rose  to  her  lips.  But  a  saving 
sense  of  justice,  not  always  at  the  service  of  the  female 
soul,  held  it  back.  After  all,  such  kindness  and  devo- 
tion were  worthy  of  respect ;  he  had  saved,  besides,  an 
unpleasant  scene  with  Uncle  Si. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  William,  ever  so  much,"  she  had 
the  grace  to  murmur,  hoping  as  she  hastily  disposed  of 
the  last  button  of  her  dress,  that  he  wouldn't  notice 
she  had  come  down,  "half  undone." 

"Please  don't  mention  it,  Miss  June,"  he  said,  with 
the  politeness  of  a  courtier,  as  he  returned  the  empty 
dustpan  to  its  home  beneath  the  scullery  sink.  "As  you 
didn't  seem  quite  yourself  last  night  I  was  hoping  you 
would  not  get  up  at  all  this  morning.  I  was  going  to 
bring  your  breakfast  up  to  you,  and  set  it  outside  your 
door." 

"Oh,  but  you  are  much  too  kind."  A  sudden  fierce 
rush  of  colour  made  her  cheeks  burn  horribly.  He  was 
a  very  nice  fellow,  even  if  he  was  not  so  bright  in  some 
things  as  he  ought  to  be. 

Uncle  Si,  by  the  grace  of  providence,  was  a  few 
minutes  late  for  his  breakfast.  This  seldom  happened 
for,  as  a  rule,  he  was  the  soul  of  punctuality.  How- 
ever, he  was  going  down  to  Newbury  by  the  nine 
o'clock  from  Paddington  to  attend  a  sale;  in  conse- 


102  THE   VAN    ROON 

quence,  he  had  bestowed  far  more  pains  upon  his  ap- 
pearance than  was  usual  at  this  early  hour.  He  was 
in  a  fairly  good  humour.  The  fact  that  the  char- 
woman's return  would  enable  him  "to  fire"  his  niece 
had  cheered  him  so  much  that  for  once  he  had  slept 
like  a  just  man. 

"Don't  expect  me  until  supper  time,"  he  said  to  June, 
as  he  put  on  his  high  felt  hat  and  his  macintosh,  and 
grasped  the  knobbed  stick,  as  ugly  as  himself,  which 
invariably  accompanied  his  travels.  "And  my  advice 
to  you,  my  girl,  is  to  think  over  very  carefully  what 
I  said  to  you  last  night." 

With  an  air  of  quiet  satisfaction,  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
stepped  briskly  forth  into  a  soft  autumn  day  where  the 
sun  as  yet  gould  not  quite  make  up  its  mind  to  greet 
him. 

It  was  to  be  a  day  of  great  events.  And  the  first 
of  these  began  to  materialise  shortly  before  eleven 
when  June  chanced  to  enter  the  shop.  William,  just 
at  that  moment,  was  fathoms  deep  in  conversation 
with  a  customer.  The  customer  was  very  tall,  she  was 
strikingly  distinguished  and,  in  the  opinion  of  June, 
she  was  dressed  exquisitely.  Soft  silk  and  faint  blue 
Chinese  embroidery  clothed  her  with  a  dangerous 
beauty.  But  it  was  the  coquetry  of  her  hat,  an  artful 
straw  wreathed  wonderfully  in  flowers  of  many  a 
subtle  shade  that  gave  the  crowning  touch. 

The  hat  it  was,  no  doubt,  that  completed  William's 
overthrow.  There  was  a  look  of  rapture  in  the  eyes 
with  which  the  vain  fellow  regarded  its  wearer,  for 
which  June  could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  slay  him 
on  the  spot. 

That  tell-tale  look  was  really  a  little  too  much.  June 


THE   VAN    ROON  103 

could  not  help  lingering  on  the  threshold  to  watch  these 
two.  So  shamelessly  was  William  engrossed  with 
this  vision  of  pure  beauty  that  there  was  not  a  chance 
of  his  eyes  straying  to  look  at  her.  And  she  would  not 
have  cared  if  they  had.  Such  an  irrational  surge  of 
jealousy  was  now  in  her  heart  that  she  would  have 
welcomed  his  seeing  what  she  thought  of  his  gazing 
like  that,  even  upon  the  grandest  young  woman  in  the 
land. 

"So  nice  of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble,"  the  fair 
customer  said  in  a  voice  of  such  melody  that  June  had 
to  own  that  the  celebrated  Miss  Banks,  the  daughter 
of  Blackhampton's  chief  physician,  whose  charm  of 
manner  had  ever  remained  in  her  mind  as  the  high- 
water  mark  of  human  amenity,  would  now  have  to  take 
second  place. 

"Not  at  all,  madam,"  said  William,  in  the  William 
way.  Even  June  had  to  admit  that  such  fine  courtesy, 
a  little  excessive,  no  doubt,  was  far  removed  from  mere 
sycophancy.  Had  he  not  practised  on  her?  For  that 
reason  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  feel  furious ;  Will- 
iam's homage  was  far  too  inclusive.  At  the  same  time, 
there  was  no  gainsaying  that  in  this  case  he  had  every 
excuse.  Regarded  as  the  mirror  of  fashion  and  the 
mould  of  form,  Miss  Banks  of  Blackhampton  was 
now  a  back  number. 

"The  friend  I  sent  it  to  liked  it  very  much  indeed," 
said  the  Super-girl.  "It  was  so  exactly  what  she  want- 
ed. And  if  by  chance  you  are  able  to  match  it,  I  shall 
be  most  grateful." 

William,  with  that  divine  air  of  his,  promised  quite 
simply  and  sincerely  to  do  his  best. 

"The  price,  too,  was  very  moderate,"  said  the  Super- 


104  THE   VAN   ROON 

girl  with  the  geniality  of  one  who  owns  a  province. 
Then  suddenly  she  half  turned,  and  her  merry  glance, 
assisted  by  a  Miss  Banksian  stick-eyeglass  was  trained 
full  upon  the  Hoodoo.  "What  a  delicious  monster!" 
The  voice  had  quite  a  Brahms  trill  in  it,  not  that  June 
had  ever  heard  of  Brahms.  "It  reminds  one  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  or  the  Grand  Guignol." 

Unabashed  by  culture,  William  stood  to  his  full 
height.  June  could  only  marvel  at  his  coolness. 

"So  Oriental.  So  grotesque.  Makes  one  think  of 
Ali  Baba  and  the  Cave  of  the  Forty  Robbers.  Very 
valuable,  of  course?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  exactly  call  it  valuable."  June 
hardly  knew  whether  to  admire  or  to  deplore  this  can- 
dour. "And  it  takes  up  a  lot  of  room,  and  absorbs 
a  lot  of  light.  Almost  needs  the  British  Museum,  as 
you  might  say,  to  show  it  to  advantage." 

Again  the  Brahms  trill,  as  the  eye  of  the  Super-girl 
travelled  from  the  Hoodoo  to  William.  "Those  fear- 
ful eyes  and  those  grinning  jaws  studded  with  croco- 
dile's teeth  make  it  look  absolutely  alive.  And  it's  so 
perfectly  hideous  that  one  feels  sure  there  must  be  a 
curse  on  it." 

"Mr.  Gedge  declares  there  is." 

"Really?"  The  eyes,  the  blue  eyes  of  the  Super- 
girl  grew  round  and  merry.  "I'd  love  to  have  a  thing 
with  a  curse  on  it — if  it's  a  real  one?" 

"Mr.  Gedge  would  part  with  it  for  a  very  reasonable 
sum  I  feel  sure,"  said  William,  with  a  judicious  air  that 
June  admired  the  more  for  being  hardly  able  to  credit 
it  in  him. 

With  the  casual  air  so  becoming  to  riches,  the  young 
woman  asked  the  price. 


THE   VAN    ROON  105 

"Twenty  pounds  would  buy  it,"  she  was  informed. 

"Curse  and  all?" 

"Curse  and  all,  madam."  William  had  a  nice  sense 
of  humour,  which  June  had  discovered  before  she  had 
known  him  an  hour,  but  in  this  big  moment  he  did  not 
relax  a  muscle. 

For  about  a  quarter  of  a  minute  the  Super-girl 
looked  again  at  the  Hoodoo.  And  then  with  the  air 
of  one  who  takes  a  great  decision,  she  gave  the  ugly 
chin  a  playful  tap  and  said:  "I  believe  the  long  gallery 
at  Homefield  is  the  very  place  for  you,  my  friend.  You 
may  not  be  a  thing  of  beauty,  but  at  the  far  end  I  am 
sure  you  would  be  a  joy  for  ever!"  She  made  then 
such  fine  play  with  her  stick-eyeglass,  that  Miss  Banks 
was  put  off  the  map  altogether.  "And  a  real  live  curse 
given  in,  I  think  you  said?" 

William  bowed  a  grave  affirmative. 

It  was  clear  that  Miss  Blue  Blood  was  intrigued. 
She  folded,  unfolded,  refolded  her  stick-eyeglass;  she 
looked  the  Hoodoo  up,  she  looked  the  Hoodoo  down, 
standing  three  paces  back  in  order  to  do  so.  "Before  I 
really  decide" — addressing  the  monster  in  a  voice  of 
warm  caresses — "I  must  get  my  father  to  come  and 
look  at  you,  my  dear.  He's  wiser  than  I  in  these  mat- 
ters. You  might  kill  all  the  pictures  in  the  long  gal- 
lery." 

At  this  point  William  bowed  again  with  exceeding 
deference.  But  here  was  not  the  end.  The  stick-eye- 
glass lit  on  the  bowl  of  Lowestoft,  which  the  Sawney 
who  was  turning  out  to  be  not  quite  such  a  sawney  as 
he  seemed,  had  picked  up  in  his  recent  travels  in 
Suffolk. 

"I  like  that.    What  a  charming  piece !" 


106  THE    VAN    ROON 

Mr.  Half-Sawney  held  the  charming  piece  to  the 
light  for  Miss  Stick-eyeglass  to  gaze  upon. 

"Yes — really  quite  charming!" 

Their  heads  were  so  close  while  together  they  bent 
over  its  beauties,  that  June,  without  wishing  real  harm 
to  either,  could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  hope  that 
the  bowl  might  fall  from  the  hands  of  William  and 
break  into  a  thousand  pieces. 

"What  is  the  price?" 

The  bowl  was  turned  on  to  its  base  while  the  young 
man  glanced  at  the  mystic  code  which  had  been  traced 
by  the  hand  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 

"Six  guineas,  madam,"  she  was  most  deferentially 
informed. 

"I  collect  Lowestof  t.  A  charming  piece.  It  will  go 
so  well  with  my  others.  Will  you  kindly  send  it  to  39b, 
Park  Lane?" 

"Certainly,  Miss  Babraham." 

The  amazing  Miss  Babraham  opened  a  vanity  bag, 
took  out  a  sheaf  of  notes,  and  chose  six  which,  with  the 
smile  of  a  siren,  she  handed  to  William,  who  received 
them  with  one  more  bow  from  his  full  height,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  write  out  a  receipt. 

Somehow  this  transaction  was  altogether  too  much 
for  June.  Flashing  one  long  last  glance  of  immeasur- 
able venom  upon  the  stick-eyeglass  who,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  deadly  passions  it  had  aroused,  had  now 
returned  to  elegant  and  final  contemplation  of  the  Hoo- 
doo, the  niece  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  withdrew  hur- 
riedly to  the  scullery  sink,  filled  a  bucket  of  water,  and 
proceeded  with  a  kind  of  contained  fury  to  scrub  the 
floor  of  the  larder. 


XVIII 

WHEN  William  came  in  to  dinner  there  was 
music  to  face.     But  as  there  was  no  sure  ground 
at  the  moment  for  real  battle,  the  music  opened  pian- 
issimo. ,  It  began  with  a  few  rather  pointed  enquiries. 

"Had  a  rather  busy  morning,  haven't  you?" 

"I  don't  think  it  has  been  anything  out  of  the  way," 
was  the  non-committal  answer. 

"Done  any  business?"  The  question  was  casual,  but 
June  fixed  him  with  her  eye. 

"Oh,  yes !"  So  light  and  airy  was  the  tone  that  busi- 
ness might  have  mattered  nothing.  "I've  sold  the 
Lowestoft  bowl." 

"Uncle  Si'll  be  pleased,  I  expect."  She  found  it  ter- 
ribly difficult  to  keep  a  sneer  out  of  her  voice,  but  you 
never  know  what  you  can  do  till  you  try.  "Fetch 
much?" 

She  knew  perfectly  well,  of  course,  the  price  it  had 
fetched. 

"Six  guineas!" 

"Isn't  that  a  pretty  good  profit  on  what  you  paid  for 
it  at  Saxmundham?"  said  June,  with  the  precision  of 
the  born  head  for  affairs. 

"I  got  it  for  thirty  shillings  at  Saxmundham,  but 
of  course  that  was  at  a  sale." 

"Seems  a  fair  profit,  anyway." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is." 

"Will  you  get  any?" 

107 


108  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Oh  no!"  said  William,  trying  to  spear  a  pickled 
walnut  in  a  glass  jar. 

"Then  I  think  it's  an  infamous  shame  that  the  whole 
of  that  six  guineas  should  go  into  the  pocket  of  Uncle 
Si." 

With  a  polite  shake  of  the  head,  William  dissented. 
"But  don't  you  see,  I  couldn't  have  bought  it  unless  the 
master  had  given  me  the  money,  and  also  marked  the 
catalogue." 

"It  was  your  brains  that  bought  it.  And  your  brains 
sold  it,  too.  I  think  you  ought  to  see  that  Uncle  Si  is 
simply  living  upon  them." 

"No,  no,  Miss  June,"  said  William  staunchly. 
"Please  don't  forget  that  it  is  the  master  who  taught 
me  everything." 

June  declined  to  argue  the  point.  She  knew  it  was 
no  use.  For  the  hundredth  time  she  was  up  against 
his  fixed  idea.  Besides,  there  was  something  else  to 
talk  about. 

"To  whom  did  you  sell  that  beautiful  bowl  ?"  Her 
voice  was  that  of  the  dove. 

"I  sold  it  to  a  Miss  Babraham,"  said  the  Sawney  in 
a  voice  of  perfectly  stupendous  impersonality. 

"To  a  Miss  Who?" 

She  had  caught  the  name  quite  clearly,  and  not  for 
the  first  time  that  day,  but  there  was  a  kind  of  morbid 
fascination  in  toying  with  a  subject  which  was  really 
without  significance,  and  could  lead  nowhere.  All  the 
same  she  pined  for  an  insight  into  the  workings  of  the 
mind  of  this  strange  young  man  who  was  such  a  baf- 
fling mixture  of  the  over-simple  and  the  highly  gifted. 

"Her  name  is  Miss  Babraham." 

"Who  is  she  when  she  is  at  home  ?" 


THE    VAN    ROON  109 

She  tried  hard  to  imitate  a  detachment  which  was  a 
little  uncanny,  yet  knowing  all  the  time  that  she  was 
making  a  sad  hash  of  the  performance.  The  trick  sel- 
dom comes  easy  to  the  daughters  of  Eve. 

"Who  did  you  say  she  was?" 

"Her  father  is  Sir  Arthur  Babraham."  The  im- 
personality of  William  made  her  writhe. 

"Oho!"  said  June,  still  trying  her  best  to  rise  to 
William's  level,  and  fully  conscious  that  she  was  failing 
miserably.  "One  of  the  big  bugs,  eh?" 

It  was  vulgar,  she  knew,  to  speak  in  that  way. 
Among  the  things  she  had  learned  at  the  Blackhampton 
High  School  was  a  due  and  proper  regard  for  baro- 
nets. Miss  Preece,  its  august  headmistress,  would 
have  been  shocked,  not  merely  by  her  tone,  but  also 
by  her  choice  of  words.  But  High  School  or  no  High 
School,  the  intrusion  of  Sir  Arthur  Babraham  sud- 
denly made  her  see  red.  She  must  be  vulgar — or  burst ! 

"What  you'd  call  one  of  the  smart  set,  I  suppose?" 
said  June  abruptly  breaking  a  long  and  rather  trying 
pause.  "Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  her  stick-eye- 
glass, anyway." 

Terrific  disparagement  of  Miss  Babraham,  her 
works  and  her  belongings  was  intended,  yet  to  the 
queer  creature  seated  opposite  who  by  now  was  almost 
ready  for  the  tapioca  pudding,  which  had  been  so  care- 
fully prepared  for  him,  it  did  not  seem  to  imply  any- 
thing at  all. 

"You  take  no  stock  of  smart  sets,  I  dare  say,"  said 
June,  with  growing  truculence.  "You've  never  heard 
of  them,  have  you?  China  tea  sets  are  more  in  your 
line,  aren't  they?" 

That  was  real  wit,  and  people  far  less  clever  than 


110  THE   VAN   ROON 

this  Sawney — a  contradiction  in  terms  and  yet  the  only 
word  which  seemed  to  describe  him  after  all ! — must 
have  seen  the  force  of  it.  But  not  he!  He  solemnly 
rose  and  collected  the  plates,  and  then  fetched  in  the 
tapioca  pudding  for  all  the  world  as  if  there  was  abso- 
lutely no  point  in  the  remark. 

"Who  did  you  say  that  tall  girl  was?"  said  June, 
returning  mothlike  to  the  flame,  as  she  helped  the 
Sawney  very  substantially  to  his  favourite  dish. 

"Miss  Babraham !" 

"And  who  did  you  say  her  father  was  ?" 

"Sir  Arthur  Babraham !" 

"And  what  might  he  do  for  a  living?" 

This  was  not  ignorance.  It  was  mere  f  acetiousness. 
She  knew  quite  well  that  no  Sir  Arthur  Babraham 
since  first  invented  by  that  ridiculous  monarch,  King 
James,  had  ever  done  anything  for  a  living.  But  it 
was  good  to  feel  how  such  a  "break"  would  have  hurt 
Miss  Preece. 

"He's  one  of  the  richest  men  in  England,"  said 
William,  dipping  his  spoon  into  his  tapioca  with  an  im- 
personality which  approached  the  sublime. 

June  knew  that.  There  was  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Arthur  Babraham  to  prove  it. 

"One  of  Uncle  Si's  best  customers,  I  suppose?" 

"Doesn't  often  come  here.  But  he  has  wonderful 
taste." 

"In  daughters?"  said  June  sardonically. 

"In  everything.  Only  last  night  I  read  in  the  paper 
that  there  isn't  a  better  judge  of  pictures  living." 

June  merely  said  "Oh!" 

"He's  one  of  the  trustees  of  the  National  Gallery, 
you  know." 


THE   VAN   ROON  111 

"Oh!"  said  June. 

"And  owns  a  very  fine  private  collection  of  the 
Dutch  School." 

"Does  he?"  It  was  June's  turn  now  to  be  imper- 
sonal ;  in  fact,  it  was  up  to  her  to  let  him  see  that  it 
would  take  more  than  Sir  Arthur  Babraham  and  a  pri- 
vate collection  of  the  Dutch  School  to  impress  her. 

"I  suppose  his  daughter  is  what  you'd  call  rather 
fetching?"  She  had  once  heard  the  word  on  the  lips 
of  the  admired  Miss  Banks  at  a  charity  bazaar. 

But  in  William's  opinion  it  was  not  adequate  to  the 
occasion. 

"To  my  mind,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  fell,  "she's  a 
none- such." 

June  stepped  midway  in  the  act  of  bestowing  upon 
him  a  second  helping  of  tapioca. 

"She's  a  what?"  she  demanded  fiercely. 

"A  museum  piece,  Miss  June."  Hjis  enthusiasm  was 
restrained  but  none  the  less  absurd.  "She's  hall- 
marked. She  walks  in  beauty."  A  blush,  faint  yet 
becoming,  slowly  overspread  William's  delicately  tinted 
complexion. 

June  snorted.  Had  it  been  within  the  province  of 
eyes  to  slay,  this  Gaby  would  have  had  no  use  for  a 
second  helping  of  tapioca. 

"Glad  to  know  that !"  said  June,  homicidally.  "As 
you  are  so  set  on  beauty,  you  must  have  had  an  inter- 
esting morning." 

A  disgracefully  impersonal  silence  was  William's 
only  answer.  The  deadliness  of  the  observation  seemed 
completely  lost  upon  him.  But  was  it? — that  was  the 
question  for  gods  and  Woman.  Such  a  silence  might 
mean  anything. 


112  THE   VAN    ROON 

"I  suppose  you'd  say  she  had  wonderful  taste  ?" 

"Miss  Babraham  ?" 

"No,  Joan  of  Arc,"  said  Woman,  venomously. 

"Her  taste  is  very  good  indeed — that  is,  in  some 
things." 

"In  hats,  I  suppose." 

"I  meant  in  old  china,"  said  the  impersonal  one. 
"I've  never  known  her  to  make  a  mistake  in  old  china." 

"That's  interesting."  It  was  a  weak  remark,  but 
June  had  seldom  felt  less  conversationally  brilliant. 

Silence  again.  A  third  helping  of  tapioca  was 
politely  declined.  June  then  pushed  across  the  cheese. 
William  removed  its  cover,  and  disclosed  an  extremely 
meagre  piece  of  Leicestershire. 

"Please  may  I  give  you  a  little?"  he  asked,  with  his 
inimitable  air. 

"There'll  be  none  for  yourself  if  you  do.  Besides, 
I  don't  want  any.  No  thank  you."  She  remembered 
her  manners,  although  that  was  not  easy  just  now. 
"I'll  go  out  presently  and  buy  some  more.  I'd  quite 
forgotten  the  cheese." 

"Please — please  take  this  tiny  piece." 

"When  I  say  no,  I  don't  mean  yes,"  said  June,  tem- 
pering strength  of  character  with  calm  politeness.  "I 
can't  imagine  Miss  Babraham  eating  a  piece  of  Leices- 
tershire cheese  in  a  dirty  overall — can  you?" 

The  remark  was  so  irrelevant  that  it  verged  upon 
the  grotesque.  Heaven  knows  from  what  malign  im- 
pulse it  sprang.  No  girl  in  her  senses  would  ever  have 
made  it.  Giant  Despair  and  the  Hag  Desperation  must 
have  been  its  sponsors. 

It  was  quite  open  to  William  to  follow  the  line  of 
least  resistance  and  ignore  the  question.  A  William 


THE    VAN    ROON  113 

less  true-blue,  a  William  less  a  gentleman  right 
through  to  the  core  might  without  dishonour  have  done 
so.  But  this  was  a  William  of  a  nobler  clay. 

"Miss  June,  your  overall  isn't  dirty." 

The  rich  sincerity  of  these  six  and  a  half  little  words 
seemed  gravely  to  imperil  the  whole  sublime  edifice 
of  his  impersonality. 

He  was  contradicted  flatly  for  his  pains;  yet  she 
knew  in  her  heart  that  whether  the  overall  was  dirty 
or  whether  it  was  clean,  the  renegade  was  already  half 
forgiven. 

"What  did  you  think  of  her  dress?"  This  new  on- 
rush of  irrelevance  was  despicable,  but  she  seemed 
quite  to  have  lost  control  of  herself. 

"It  was  perfect.  To  my  mind,  nothing  is  more  be- 
coming to  a  tall  lady  than  a  dress  of  soft  dark  blue 
silk." 

Dyed-in-the-wool  idiot!  As  though  it  was  not  his 
clear  and  obvious  duty  never  even  to  have  noticed 
whether  Miss  Babraham  wore  a  dress  of  soft  blue  silk 
or  a  muslin  with  spots  or  a  grey  alpaca,  or  just  a  plain 
serge  coat  and  skirt.  Times  there  are  when  the  stupidity 
of  the  human  male  has  really  no  limit. 

"Must  have  cost  a  pretty  penny,"  said  June  acidly. 

William  shook  his  head,  and  boldly  affirmed  that  it 
couldn't  be  bought  for  money. 

"That's  just  nonsense,"  said  June  tartly.  "There 
isn't  a  dress  in  the  world  that  couldn't  be  bought  for 
money." 

"What  I  really  mean  is,  to  have  a  dress  which  looked 
like  that,  you  would  also  have  to  buy  the  wearer,"  said 
William  the  amazing. 

June  expressed  a  ripe  scorn  by  vehemently  begin- 


114  THE    VAN    ROON 

ning  to  clear  the  table.  High  time,  certainly.  They 
had  been  discussing  cold  mutton  and  pickled  walnuts 
and  tapioca  pudding  and  Leicestershire  cheese  and 
things  and  women  for  one  solid  hour  by  the  Queen 
Anne  clock,  a  real  antique,  in  the  middle  of  the  chim- 
neypiece,  for  which  S.  Gedge  had  lately  refused  the 
sum  of  forty  guineas. 


XIX 

IN  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  June  found  herself 
immersed  in  the  crisis  of  her  fate.  It  began  with 
a  desire  to  own  a  dress  of  soft  blue  silk.  This,  she  well 
knew,  was  insane.  In  the  first  place,  she  was  still  in 
mourning  for  her  mother;  in  the  second,  she  must 
hoard  every  penny  of  her  slender  means;  in  the  third, 
was  William's  conviction  that  the  success  of  a  dress 
depended  upon  its  wearer. 

Not  a  shade  of  excuse  could  be  found  for  this  vault- 
ing ambition.  But  it  was  fixed  so  firmly  in  the  centre 
of  her  mind,  that  when  she  set  out  soon  after  three  to 
order  the  cheese  she  could  think  of  nothing  else.  The 
grocer  was  at  the  end  of  the  street  and  two  minutes 
did  her  business  with  him.  And  then  in  the  toils  of 
imperious  desire  she  marched  boldly  down  to  Charing 
Cross  and  took  a  bus  to  Oxford  Circus. 

A  yearning  for  a  dress  of  blue  silk  was  upon  her  like 
a  passion.  It  was  madness  and  yet  it  was  very  deli- 
cious. What  could  a  blue  silk  dress  avail  when  at  any 
moment  she  was  likely  to  be  cast  adrift  ?  That  thought 
hit  hard  as  she  sauntered  slowly  along  the  Street  of 
Streets  gazing  wistfully  upon  its  long  array  of  too- 
fascinating  drapers'  windows. 

Her  store  of  worldly  wealth  was  nineteen  pounds 

and  a  few  odd  shillings.    It  was  as  certain  as  anything 

could  be  that  she  was  about  to  enter  upon  the  most 

critical  period  of  her  life,  and  this  was  all  she  had  to 

115 


116  THE   VAN   ROON 

tide  her  over.  But  do  what  she  would  to  act  like  a  rea- 
sonable being  she  was  now  at  the  mercy  of  a  demon 
more  powerful  than  common  prudence.  She  was 
haunted  by  a  passion  for  a  blue  silk  dress  and  no  mat- 
ter what  happened  to  her  afterwards  she  must  satisfy 
that  craving. 

It  was  a  rather  thrilling  business  to  rake  these  for- 
bidden windows  in  quest  of  a  thing  it  was  sheer  mad- 
ness to  buy,  yet  within  one's  power  to  do  so.  Why  was 
she  going  to  buy  it?  Because  she  wanted  it  so  badly? 
Why  did  she  want  it  so  badly?  That  was  a  question 
she  could  not  answer. 

Had  she  been  really  pretty  this  folly  might  have 
seemed  less  amazing.  But  she  knew  she  was  plain. 
At  least,  she  always  felt  and  always  passed  for  plain 
at  Blackhampton.  But  her  pilgrimage  along  Oxford 
Street  which,  in  the  middle  of  a  bright  afternoon  of 
early  October,  seemed  the  Mecca  of  fashion,  beauty 
and  good  taste  went  some  way  to  change  the  attitude 
she  had  taken  up  in  regard  to  her  personal  appearance. 

Plain  she  might  be,  her  clothes  might  be  severely 
provincial,  their  hue  depressing,  but  she  was  clearly 
informed  by  the  sixth  sense  given  to  Woman  that  she 
was  not  wholly  unlocked  at.  It  was  nice  to  feel  that 
such  was  the  case;  indeed,  it  was  stimulating,  yet  so 
deeply  was  she  occupied  just  then  with  large  affairs 
that  she  didn't  think  much  about  it. 

After  many  windows  she  had  seen,  she  found  her- 
self drifting  with  the  tide  into  a  store  of  regal  aspect. 
Here  she  was  received  by  young  women,  elegant  and 
gracious,  with  a  courteous  charm  that  made  a  search 
for  five  yards  of  blue  silk  fabric  in  its  least  expensive 
form  a  perfectly  simple  and  yet  delightful  adventure. 


THE   VAN   ROON  117 

Moreover,  it  brought  in  its  train  a  great  idea.  Was  it 
necessary,  after  all,  that  domestic  servitude  should  be 
her  lot?  Might  it  not  be  possible  to  become  one  of 
these  smart  and  pleasant  ladies  in  their  very  attractive 
clothes? 

Expenditure  of  spirit,  anxious  care,  went  to  the  final 
purchase  of  four  and  a  half  yards  of  cotton  silk  mate- 
rial, more  cotton  than  silk,  at  eight  and  elevenpence 
three  farthings  a  yard;  and  then  the  new  thought 
gained  such  a  hold  upon  her,  that  before  leaving  the 
store  she  took  an  inventory  of  her  person  in  one  of  the 
huge  mirrors  which  made  the  place  so  enchanting. 
Standing  boldly  in  front  of  the  great  glass,  surveying 
herself  with  a  curiosity  that  was  half  fear,  she  went 
over  her  "points"  as  might  an  Eastern  merchant  who 
buys  a  slave. 

She  was  taller  than  she  supposed.  That  was 
thought  the  first.  And  if  she  wore  shoes  with  high 
heels,  as  so  many  girls  did,  she  could  look  still  taller. 
She  could  pass  for  slender,  that  was  her  second 
thought ;  and  her  chest  was  something  to  be  proud  of. 
She  might  not  have  much  in  the  way  of  grace,  and  she 
might  lack  style,  yet  she  didn't  lack  dignity.  Her  fea- 
tures were  irregular,  and  there  was  no  denying  their 
freckles,  but  seeing  her  frontispiece  this  afternoon, 
with  its  fighting  chin  and  determined  eyes,  the  full 
effect  was  rather  striking.  But  when  all  was  said  it 
was  her  hair  that  was  important.  This  she  had  always 
known,  but  in  the  strong  and  subtle  lights  of  the  best 
mirror  into  which  she  had  ever  gazed,  it  ministered 
considerably  to  the  sum  and  total  of  her  charms.  Per- 
haps her  friend,  Mr.  Boultby  the  druggist,  had  not 
overshot  the  mark  when  he  compared  her  hair  to  the 


118  THE   VAN    ROON 

Empress  Eugenie's,  and  said  it  ought  to  be  painted  by 
an  R.  A. 

A  mop  of  russet  gold  hair  was  little  enough  for  a 
girl  who  stood  in  her  particular  shoes.  She  felt  that  as 
she  gazed  upon  it ;  felt  it  besides  with  something  akin 
to  resentment.  But  even  a  self-criticism,  cool  and  stern, 
must  allow  that  she  made  a  better  showing  in  Mr.  Self- 
ridge's  mirror  than  could  have  been  expected.  She 
was  far  from  being  beautiful,  but  that  hair  in  its  subtle- 
tinted  abundance  saved  her  somehow  from  being  ordi- 
nary. And  to-day  she  looked  very  much  alive  with  the 
bloom  of  youth  and  health. 

Four  and  a  half  yards  of  blue  material  under  her 
arm,  she  went  out  into  Oxford  Street,  feeling  rather 
better  equipped  for  the  battle  of  life.  She  drew  back 
a  pair  of  shoulders  that  were  really  not  so  bad,  and 
defiantly  lifted  a  chin  that  had  looked  uncommonly 
square  in  the  mirror.  It  was  good  to  feel  that  she  had 
underrated  herself.  She  must  learn  to  dress  in  the 
London  way,  and  then  she  might  be  able  to  hold  her 
own. 

Walking  slowly  back  to  Oxford  Circus,  head  higher 
now,  she  began  quite  to  like  this  new  idea  of  becoming 
a  shop  assistant.  At  the  worst,  it  would  be  a  far  easier 
and  more  dignified  way  of  life  than  domestic  service. 
So  much  was  she  engaged  by  it,  and  so  great  the  pres- 
sure of  her  thoughts  that  at  first  she  didn't  notice  that 
a  man  was  following  her. 

The  knowledge  overtook  her  by  degrees.  Stopping 
to  look  in  various  windows,  each  time  she  did  so 
brought  a  vague  feeling  that  the  eyes  of  a  man  were 
upon  her.  She  crossed  the  Circus,  but  the  feeling  was 
still  there;  and  at  the  corner  of  Berners  Street,  with- 


THE   VAN   ROON  119 

out  quite  knowing  how,  surmise  entered  the  region  of 
fact.  Moreover,  she  even  contrived  to  learn  the  style 
of  man  he  was. 

Out  of  the  tail  of  an  eye,  as  she  stood  by  the  edge 
of  the  kerb,  she  saw  that  he  was  pale  and  dark,  neither 
short  nor  tall,  that  he  had  a  slight  moustache,  and  wore 
a  hat  of  peach  coloured  velours.  His  presence  gave 
her  an  odd  feeling ;  in  fact,  it  might  be  said  to  frighten 
her  just  a  little,  although  there  was  certainly  no  reason 
why  it  should  in  broad  daylight.  But  she  had  an  idea 
that  he  was  going  to  speak  to  her  and  that  he  was  seek- 
ing an  opportunity  to  do  so. 

Hastily  she  moved  on,  determined  to  give  further 
shop  windows  "a  miss"  for  the  present.  However,  she 
had  not  gone  far  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  was 
in  need  of  a  cup  of  tea,  and  that  it  would  be  very  pleas- 
ant to  have  one. 

Just  across  the  road  was  an  A.  B.  C  shop.  The  fear 
of  pursuit  still  upon  her,  the  sudden  dash  she  made  for 
this  bourn  was  so  ill-timed  that  her  sovereign  faculty 
of  keeping  her  head  in  a  crisis  was  needed  to  save  her 
from  being  run  over  by  Bus  13,  which  was  going  to  the 
"Bell"  at  Hendon. 

With  quite  a  sense  of  adventure,  she  went  to  one  of 
a  row  of  vacant  tables  at  the  far  end  of  the  shop.  She 
ordered  a  small  pot  of  tea,  a  scone  and  a  pat  of  butter. 
And  then  she  realized  that  a  pale,  dark  man,  neither 
short  nor  tall,  with  a  slight  moustache,  and  wearing  a 
hat  of  peach-coloured  velours  had  followed  her  in,  and 
was  just  about  to  take  a  seat  at  the  table  next  her  own. 


XX 


JUNE  was  not  a  timid  girl.  She  had  no  lack  of  cour- 
age ;  and  now  that  a  chance  had  been  given  her  to 
reason  things  out,  a  feeling  akin  to  fear  promptly 
yielded  to  mere  annoyance.  And  even  that  emotion 
took  wings  when  she  had  had  time  to  glance  at  the  hat 
of  peach-coloured  velours.  Its  owner  looked  harmless 
enough.  He  was  a  man  of  thirty,  or  perhaps  a  little 
more ;  he  wore  a  well-cut  black  jacket,  a  pair  of  rather 
baggy  trousers  of  a  light  grey  check,  a  silk  collar,  a 
flowing  bow  tie,  a  diamond  ring  on  the  little  finger  of 
the  left  hand.  The  general  effect  of  what  to  June  was 
a  decidedly  interesting  personality  was  somehow  to 
fulfil  her  preconceived  idea  of  an  artist. 

As  soon  as  the  man  felt  the  gaze  of  June  upon  him, 
he  swept  off  the  hat  of  peach-coloured  velours  with  a 
gesture  at  once  easy  and  graceful,  fortified  it  with  a 
smile  at  which  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  take 
offence,  and  said  with  a  slight  lisp, 

"Miss  Graham?" 

"I  am  not  Miss  Graham,"  said  June  calmly.  She 
always  prided  herself  upon  her  self-possession.  Just 
now  it  seemed  to  help  her  considerably. 

The  man  carried  off  his  question  with  such  an  air 
of  tact  that  it  must  have  ranked  as  a  bona  fide  mistake 
had  not  June  been  aware  that  he  had  crossed  the  road 
120 


THE    VAN    ROON  121 

and  followed  her  into  the  shop.  Rather  strangely,  as 
soon  as  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  speak  to  her,  the 
lingering  sense  of  vexation  gave  way  to  curiosity.  The 
mere  look  of  the  man  had  the  power  to  excite  an  imme- 
diate interest,  but  June  was  careful  to  keep  strictly 
upon  her  guard. 

He  ordered  a  bottle  of  ginger  beer,  and  when  the 
waitress  had  gone  for  it,  he  turned  to  June  and  said, 
with  the  companionable  air  of  an  old  friend:  "It's 
funny,  but  you  are  exactly  like  a  girl  I  used  to  know." 

"Why  funny?"  asked  June  bluntly. 

The  nature  of  the  question,  and  the  look  of  June's 
keen  eye  made  the  man  smile  a  little.  Evidently  she 
was  a  'bit  of  a  character.  It  appeared  to  stimulate  him. 

"It's  always  funny  when  you  mistake  someone  for 
someone  else." 

"Is  it?"  said  June,  warily. 

"Don't  you  agree,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  that  sound- 
ed decidedly  pleasant. 

"It's  a  thing  I  should  never  think  of  doing  myself." 

"You  are  lucky."  He  was  amused  by  her  bluntness. 
"I  wish  I  had  your  good  memory." 

The  tea  arrived,  and  June  poured  it  out  in  a  spirit 
of  thankfulness.  As  soon  as  she  had  drunk  half  a  cup, 
which  was  reviving,  she  forgot  all  about  her  annoy- 
ance in  a  new  feeling  of  exhilaration  tempered  by 
quiet  amusement. 

"You  are  most  remarkably  like  a  Scotch  girl  I  used 
to  know  in  Paris,"  said  the  man,  taking  up  the  thread 
of  conversation,  after  having  drunk  a  little,  a  very  lit- 
tle, ginger  beer. 

"Am  I?"  said  June,  coolly. 


122  THE   VAN    ROON 

"She  was  an  artist's  model.  Sometimes  she  used  to 
sit  for  me." 

"Are  you  an  artist?"  said  June,  allowing  herself 
to  become  interested,  for  the  reason  perhaps  that  she 
simply  could  not  help  it. 

"Of  sorts,"  was  the  answer.  "I  studied  several 
years  in  Paris  before  the  war." 

From  the  moment  he  had  sat  down  at  the  next  table 
and  June  had  been  able  to  get  a  clear  view  of  him  she 
had  somehow  known  that  art  was  his  calling.  He 
looked  an  artist  so  emphatically  that  there  would  have 
been  something  fatally  wrong  with  the  cosmos  had  he 
turned  out  to  be  anything  else. 

In  spite  of  a  determination  to  be  cautious  indeed, 
she  was  not  equal  to  the  task  of  repressing  an  ever 
growing  curiosity.  Art  had  lately  come  to  have  a 
magic  meaning  for  her. 

"What  kind  of  pictures  do  you  paint?" 

"Portraits  and  the  figure  chiefly." 

"Do  you  ever  paint  landscapes?" 

"They  are  not  quite  my  line  of  country,"  said  the 
man.  "Portraits  and  the  figure  are  what  I  go  for  as  a 
rule.  I  am  looking  for  a  model  now.  Would  you  like 
to  sit  to  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know."  June  spoke  doubtfully.  "I  don't 
think  I  could." 

"Haven't  you  ever  sat?" 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"Time  you  began.    You  are  just  the  sort  of  girl." 

"Why  am  I?" 

"For  one  thing  you  have  personality." 

This  was  a  surprising  and  rather  thrilling  corrobora- 
tion  of  Mr.  Boultby.  At  the  back  of  her  mind  the  old 


THE   VAN    ROON  123 

druggist  had  always  figured  as  "a  bit  of  a  gasbag"  with 
a  ready  flow  of  conversation  and  a  gift  of  easy  com- 
pliment. But  it  would  seem  that  this  estimate  did  him 
less  than  justice.  Mr.  Boultby  was  better  informed 
than  she  had  thought.  And  at  this  moment  a  phrase 
he  had  used  came  back  to  her  with  a  force  that  was  a 
little  startling.  "A  girl  as  good-looking  as  you  can 
always  get  a  living,"  Mr.  Boultby  had  once  said. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  my  hair?"  said  June  naively. 

He  showed  two  rows  of  very  white  and  level  teeth 
in  a  smile  which  piqued  her  curiosity. 

"Partly  your  hair,  and  partly  your  figure,"  he  said, 
taking  a  second  tiny  sip  of  ginger  beer.  "Why  not 
come  and  try?  I  have  a  studio  in  Haliburton  Street, 
just  out  of  Manning  Square." 

June  shook  a  doubtful  head.  She  then  gave  a  glance 
sideways  at  the  imbiber  of  the  ginger  beer.  Her 
knowledge  of  the  world  was  slender,  but  she  was  not 
a  fool,  and  there  was  something  about  this  "f orthcom- 
ingness"  which  even  exceeded  that  of  Mr.  Boultby  him- 
self, that  warned  her  to  be  careful. 

"You'd  be  well  paid,  of  course." 

"How  much?"  June  had  no  false  modesty  when  it 
came  to  a  question  of  money.  This  was  an  aspect  of 
the  matter  that  had  not  struck  her  until  then. 

"I'd  pay  you  five  shillings  an  hour,"  he  said  lightly. 
"And  ten  for  the  altogether." 

June's  heart  gave  a  leap.  To  a  girl  in  her  position 
it  was  a  princely  reward.  Such  an  offer  seemed  most 
tempting.  But  a  moment's  consideration  of  the  issues 
it  raised  brought  on  a  sudden  fit  of  shyness. 

"I  don't  think  I  could,"  she  said. 


124  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Why  not?"  The  eyes  of  the  man  were  now  fixed 
intently  upon  her  face. 

"Oh,  I  don't " 

"Not  enough,  eh?" 

She  felt  his  eyes  so  forcibly  upon  her  that  she  col- 
oured hotly. 

"It  isn't  that." 

"What's  your  reason  then?" 

"I've  not  been  used  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

He  smiled  broadly. 

"It's  only  a  matter  of  keeping  still.  Of  course,  I 
shall  not  press  you  to  sit  for  'the  altogether'  if  you 
had  rather  not." 

"The  altogether"  was  Greek  to  June. 

However,  she  did  not  confess  her  ignorance,  but  was 
content  to  make  a  mental  note  to  ask  William  what  it 
meant.  And  at  the  moment  she  did  so  the  thought  of 
William  brought  the  Van  Roon  to  her  mind. 

"I  suppose  you  know  a  lot  about  pictures?"  An 
idea  was  forming  already  in  that  practical  head. 

"Perhaps  I  know  as  much  about  them  as  some  peo- 
ple," said  the  man,  beginning  to  roll  a  cigarette.  June 
could  not  help  feeling  that  his  answer  was  in  piquant 
contrast  to  what  William's  would  have  been  had  such 
a  question  been  put  to  him.  It  had  a  self-complacency 
which  even  if  it  implied  deep  knowledge  was  also  open 
to  criticism. 

"What  do  you  think  a  Van  Roon  would  be  worth  ?" 

"A  Van  Roon!"  he  said,  offhandedly.  "Well,  you 
know,  that  might  depend  on  many  things." 

"They  are  very  valuable,  I  suppose,"  said  June,  try- 
ing to  look  innocent. 

"Very  valuable  indeed,  at  the  present  time.     Pri- 


THE   VAN    ROON  125 

vately,  I  think  they  are  overrated.  The  Flemish  School 
is  being  run  to  death,  but  of  course,  that's  only  my 
opinion." 

"Would  it  be  worth  a  hundred  pounds?" 

"What !  A  Van  Roon !"  The  man  laughed.  "My 
good  girl,  you  might  multiply  a  hundred  pounds  by  a 
hundred,  and  then  think  you  had  got  'some'  bargain 
if  you  found  yourself  the  owner  of  a  Van  Roon." 

"This  mightn't  be  a  good  one."  June  spoke  cau- 
tiously. She  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  wise  "to  go 
slow." 

"All  Van  Roons  are  good,  you  know.  But  some,  of 
course,  are  a  bit  better  than  others." 

"I've  been  told  it  is  one  of  the  best,"  said  June,  after 
a  moment's  deliberation. 

"Which  are  you  talking  about?  The  one  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery,  I  suppose.  That's  the  only  Van  Roon 
in  this  country.  The  Americans  have  robbed  us  of 
three  within  the  last  ten  years." 

"Yes,  I've  heard  so,"  said  June,  with  a  wise  air. 

"In  my  humble  opinion,  it  can't  be  compared  with 
the  chap  in  the  Louvre,  and  they  say  that  its  stable 
companion,  which  was  cut  out  of  its  frame  back  in  the 
Nineties,  and  has  never  been  found,  is  even  finer." 

"Still  you  think  it's  very  valuable?" 

"The  one  in  the  National  Gallery?  Sure!  It 
wouldn't  be  there,  you  know,  if  it  wasn't.  The  Flem- 
ish School  is  booming  these  days,  and  Van  Roon  is  the 
pick  of  the  bunch,  and  the  least  prolific.  Tell  me," 
the  man's  small  and  rather  furtive  eyes  began  to  twin- 
kle, "why  are  you  so  interested  in  Van  Roons?  Is 
it,  by  any  chance,  that  you've  got  one  for  sale?"  And 


126  THE   VAN    ROON 

he  laughed  very  softly  and  gently  at  what  he  evidently 
considered  a  rich  joke. 

June  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"It  so  happens  that  I  have !"  she  said  with  a  caution 
which  seemed  to  give  the  value  of  drama  to  a  simple 
announcement. 


XXI 

ADOLPH  KELLER  was  the  man's  name.  And 
as  June  was  to  learn  later,  he  had  never  felt 
more  amused  in  his  life.  It  was  really  a  jest  that  he 
should  follow  a  countrified-looking  girl  into  a  teashop, 
get  into  conversation  with  her,  and  then  be  quietly  told 
that  she  had  a  Van  Roon  to  sell.  There  was  something 
rather  pathetic  in  a  girl  of  her  class  making  such  a 
statement.  All  she  could  mean  was  that  somehow  she 
had  got  hold  of  a  more  or  less  "dud"  copy  of  "Sun 
and  Cloud,"  that  much  lithographed  work  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery  which  in  consequence  was  now  familiar 
to  the  big  public. 

"So  you've  got  a  Van  Roon  for  sale,  have  you?" 
said  Adolph  Keller,  who  was  hardly  able  to  keep  from 
laughing  outright.  "Good  for  you!  What's  the  size 
of  it?" 

"Sixteen  inches  by  twelve,"  said  June,  with  the  pat- 
ness  of  one  who  prided  herself,  and  with  reason,  upon 
a  most  excellent  memory. 

"Without  the  frame?" 

June  nodded. 

"Yes,  that's  about  the  size,"  said  Keller.  "It's  called 
'Sun  and  Cloud,'  I  suppose?" 

"It's  not  called  anything  at  present,"  said  June,  "as 
far  as  I  know,  although  sun  and  cloud  are  in  it." 

"Bound  to  be — if  it's  a  Van  Rooru" 
127 


128  THE   VAN    ROON 

"And  there  are  trees  as  well." 

"Trees,  are  there  ?  A  copy  of  the  one  in  the  National 
Gallery,  I  expect.  Is  there  a  windmill  in  the  left  hand 
corner?" 

There  was  no  windmill  in  the  left  hand  corner,  June 
declared  with  confidence.  She  remembered  that  at  first 
William  had  thought  there  was,  but  had  changed  his 
opinion  later. 

"Then  that  washes  out  the  National  Gallery.  I  dare 
say  it's  a  copy  of  'L'Automne'  in  the  Louvre.  By  the 
way,  how  did  you  come  by  it?" 

"It  was  given  to  me  by  a  gentleman,  a  friend  of 
mine,"  said  June,  after  a  moment  for  reflection. 

"A  very  good  friend,  too."  The  tone  of  the  laugh 
had  a  little  too  much  banter  to  be  pleasant.  "Isn't 
everybody,  you  know,  who  gives  a  Van  Roon  to  his 
best  girl?  A  bit  of  a  plutocrat  evidently." 

June  didn't  know  what  a  plutocrat  was,  but  she  was 
too  proud  to  say  so.  She  made  a  mental  note  to  look 
up  the  word  in  the  dictionary. 

"How  did  your  rich  friend  come  by  it  ?  Do  you  hap- 
pen to  know?" 

"He  isn't  rich,"  said  June,  with  a  wish  for  perfect 
honesty.  "He  found  it  in  a  shop." 

"Where  was  the  shop?" 

"It  was  at  a  place  called  Crowdham  Market." 

"Down  in  Suffolk.  Sounds  a  funny  place  to  find  a 
Van  Roon." 

"It  was  ever  so  dirty  when  it  was  found.  And  an- 
other picture  seemed  to  have  been  painted  on  the  top 
of  it." 

"Queer."  The  eyes  of  Adolph  Keller  narrowed  in 
their  intentness.  "Who  told  you  it  was  a  Van  Roon  ?" 


THE   VAN    ROON  129 

"The  man  who  gave  it  to  me." 

"Who  told  him?" 

"He  found  the  signature."  June's  quiet  precision 
owed  something  to  the  fact  that  she  was  now  fully  and 
rather  deliciously  aware  of  the  effect  she  was  making. 

"What!  .  .  .  The  signature  of  Mynheer  Van 
Roon?" 

"Yes,"  said  June. 

The  incredulity  of  Keller  had  yielded  now  to  a  pow- 
erful curiosity.  He  looked  at  June  with  a  keenness 
he  tried  hard  to  veil.  This  was  a  very  unlikely  story, 
yet  he  knew  enough  of  life  to  appreciate  the  fact  that 
mere  unlikelihood  is  no  reason  why  a  story  should  not 
be  true.  Besides,  this  girl  had  such  an  ingenuous  air 
that  it  was  impossible  to  believe  her  tale  was  a  deliber- 
ate invention.  At  the  same  time,  it  had  elements  which 
were  particularly  hard  to  swallow. 

"Why  was  the  picture  given  to  you?" 

"I  asked  for  it,"  said  June,  whose  simple  honesty 
now  involved  a  tell-tale  blush. 

Mr.  Keller  looked  her  steadily  in  the  eye,  and  then 
he  laughed,  but  not  unsympathetically. 

"Your  best  boy,  I  suppose,  and  he  could  deny  you 
nothing." 

"That's  it,"  said  June  awkwardly.  This  audacious, 
irony  was  new  to  her,  and  she  did  not  know  how  to 
meet  it. 

"By  the  way,  what  is  this  young  chap  of  yours?  An 
artist?" 

"Yes,"  said  June.  "I  suppose  he  is — in  a  way.  He 
studies  art  and  renovates  pictures,  and  he  knows  a  lot 
about  them." 

"Not  so  much  as  he  thinks,"  said  Adolph  Keller, 


130  THE   VAN   ROON 

"else  he  would  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  give  away 
a  Van  Roon,  even  to  a  girl  as  nice  and  pretty  as  you 
are/' 

He  had  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper  of  rare 
sweetness  and  carrying  power.  There  was  something 
about  him  that  was  powerfully  attractive ;  at  the  same 
time,  a  look  had  crept  into  a  pair  of  rather  furtive  eyes 
which  was  oddly  repellent. 

"Do  you  say  you  really  have  this  picture  in  your 
possession?"  His  intentness  when  he  put  this  ques- 
tion made  June  feel  a  little  uncomfortable. 

"Yes,  it  has  been  given  to  me." 

"Could  you  let  me  see  it?" 

June  hesitated. 

"I  think  I  could,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Well,  suppose  you  bring  it  round  to  my  studio  for 
me  to  look  at?" 

Again  June  hesitated. 

"As  you  like,  of  course,"  said  Keller,  carelessly.  "I 
was  only  thinking  it  might  be  worth  your  while,  that's 
all.  You  see,  I  happen  to  know  one  or  two  dealers 
and  people,  and  I  might  be  able  to  find  out  for  you  just 
what  it's  worth." 

June  saw  the  force  of  this.  She  was  in  desperate 
straits,  and  this  man  had  the  appearance  of  a  friend 
in  need. 

"Perhaps  I  will,"  she  said. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  man.    "When  will  you  come?" 

For  a  moment  June  thought  hard.  "I  couldn't  come 
before  Thursday." 

"The  day  after  to-morrow — that'll  suit  me.  What 
time?" 

June  continued  to  think  hard.    "It  would  have  to  be 


THE   VAN    ROON  131 

between  three  and  four."  She  spoke  with  slow  reluc- 
tance. "That's  the  only  time  I  can  really  get  away." 

"All  right,"  said  the  man,  briskly.  "You'll  find  me 
at  the  Haliburton  Street  Studios  up  till  five  o'clock  on 
Thursday.  Number  Four.  Give  a  good  ring ;  the  bell 
is  a  bit  out  of  gear.  My  name  is  Keller.  Can  you  re- 
member it,  or  shall  I  write  it  down  for  you,  with  the 
address?" 

"Write  them  down  for  me,  please." 

The  man  tore  a  leaf  from  a  pocket  book,  and  wrote 
his  name  and  address  with  a  fountain  pen:  Adolph 
Keller,  4  Haliburton  Street  Studios,  Manning  Square, 
Soho.  When  he  had  done  this,  and  given  it  to  her,  he 
tore  out  another  leaf  and  asked  her  to  write  down  hers. 
This  she  accordingly  did,  and  then  the  sudden  thought 
of  William's  tea  caused  her  to  rise  abruptly. 

Mr.  Keller  wished  to  pay  her  bill,  which  was  five- 
pence,  but  she  declined  to  let  him. 

"Au  revoir!  Thursday  afternoon.  Manning 
Square  is  only  about  three  minutes  from  here.  Don't 
forget,"  were  the  words  with  which  he  took  leave  of 
her.  "Bring  it  along.  I  dare  say  I'll  be  able  to  tell  you 
whether  it  is  genuine,  and  perhaps  give  you  an  idea  of 
its  value." 

He  laughed  slightly,  and  then  offered  his  hand  in  a 
very  friendly  manner.  She  took  it  with  a  reluctance 
she  was  rather  ashamed  of  showing.  He  was  so  kind, 
so  agreeable,  so  anxious  to  be  of  use  that  there  seemed 
no  warrant  for  the  subtle  complexity  of  feeling  he  had 
aroused  in  her. 


XXII 

JUNE'S  way  home  to  New  Cross  Street  was  beset 
with  anxieties.  Much  would  depend  on  what  she 
did  now.  She  felt  that  her  whole  life  was  about  to  turn 
on  the  decision  she  had  to  take  in  a  very  difficult 
matter. 

There  was  no  one  to  guide  her,  not  a  soul  on  whose 
advice  she  might  lean.  But  before  she  had  returned 
to  the  threshold  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  she  had  made  a 
resolve  to  get  immediate  possession  of  the  picture,  and 
to  let  this  Mr.  Keller  have  a  look  at  it.  She  did  not 
altogether  like  him,  it  was  true.  But  the  feeling  was 
irrational ;  she  must  be  sensible  enough  not  to  let  it  set 
her  against  him  without  due  cause.  For  he  was  a 
friend  whom  Providence  had  unmistakably  thrown  in 
her  way,  and  there  was  no  other  to  whom  she  might 
turn. 

William  was  a  broken  reed.  With  all  his  perception 
and  talent,  he  was  likely  to  prove  hopeless  now  that 
Uncle  Si  was  setting  his  wits  to  work  to  obtain  the 
picture  for  himself.  William's  devotion  to  his  mas- 
ter's interest  would  be  simply  fatal  to  her  scheme.  For 
the  sake  of  them  both,  June  felt  she  must  take  a  full 
advantage  of  the  heaven-sent  opportunity  provided  by 
this  Mr.  Keller. 

Other  decisions,  too,  would  have  to  be  made.  As 
soon  as  Uncle  Si  knew  the  picture  was  hers,  he  would 
almost  certainly  carry  out  his  threat  of  putting  her 
132 


THE    VAN    ROON  133 

in  the  street;  at  least  she  was  no  judge  of  character 
if  the  event  proved  otherwise.  A  means  of  livelihood 
must  be  sought  at  once.  That  afternoon's  experience 
of  Oxford  Street  had  opened  up  new  vistas,  which, 
however,  might  lead  nowhere.  But  even  if  she  could 
not  get  employment  in  a  shop  Mr.  Keller's  offer  of 
work  as  an  artist's  model  at  five  shillings  an  hour  must 
not  be  lightly  put  aside. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done,  however,  was  to  clinch 
William's  gift  of  the  picture  once  and  for  all.  She 
made  up  her  mind  that  it  should  be  fully  consummated 
before  the  return  of  Uncle  Si  from  Newbury. 

As  soon  as  William  had  been  given  his  tea  she 
broached  the  subject.  But  when  she  asked  for  posses- 
sion, there  and  then,  his  crest  fell. 

"I  was  still  hoping,  Miss  June,"  the  simpleton 
owned,  "that  you'd  let  the  dear  old  master  have  this 
lovely  thing.  It  has  come  to  mean  so  much  to  him, 
you  see.  I  will  get  another  one  for  you." 

"Not  another  Van  Roon,"  said  June,  sharply. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  promise  a  Van  Roon." 
A  cloud  passed  over  William's  face.  "But  I  might  be 
able  to  pick  up  something  quite  good,  which  perhaps 
you  would  come  to  like  as  much." 

June  shook  a  disconsolate  head. 

"I  don't  think,"  she  said,  in  a  slow  voice,  as  she  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  wall  in  front  of  her,  "there  is  another 
picture  in  the  world  I  should  value  so  much  as  that 
one.  I  simply  love  that  picture." 

William  was  troubled. 

"The  old  master  loves  it,  too." 

"But  you  gave  it  me,  you  know."  June  was  pain- 
fully conscious  of  a  swift  deepening  of  colour. 


134  THE   VAN    ROON 

The  plain  fact  was  not  denied. 

"You  mustn't  think  me  very  hard  and  grasping  if  I 
hold  you  to  the  bargain." 

"No,  Miss  June.  If  you  insist,  of  course  the  picture 
is  yours." 

'To  do  with  just  as  I  like." 

"Why  yes,  certainly." 

June  proceeded  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  "Very 
well,"  she  said.  "After  supper,  I  shall  ask  you  to  hand 
it  over  to  me,  and  I  will  put  it  in  a  place  of  safety." 

William  sighed  heavily.  He  seemed  almost  upon 
the  verge  of  tears.  June  simply  loathed  the  part  she 
was  playing.  The  only  consolation  was  that  she  was 
acting  quite  as  much  in  his  interest  as  in  her  own. 

Uncle  Si  came  in  shortly  before  eight.  He  sat  down 
to  supper  in  quite  a  good  humour.  For  once  the  old 
man  was  in  high  conversational  feather. 

It  was  clear  that  his  mind  was  still  full  of  the  pic- 
ture. Without  subscribing  for  one  moment  to  Will- 
iam's preposterous  theory  that  the  thing  was  a  genuine 
Van  Roon,  he  had  had  a  further  talk  on  the  matter 
with  his  friend,  Mr.  Thornton,  with  whom  he  had 
travelled  down  to  Newbury ;  and,  he  had  arranged  with 
that  gentleman  to  bring  his  friend,  Monsieur  Dupon- 
net,  the  famous  Paris  expert  who  was  now  in  London, 
to  come  and  look  at  it  on  Thursday  afternoon.  Mon- 
sieur Duponnet  who  knew  more  about  Van  Roon  than 
anybody  living,  and  had  had  several  pass  through  his 
hands  in  the  last  ten  years,  would  be  able  to  say  posi- 
tively whether  William  was  wrong,  and  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  was  right,  or  with  a  devout  gesture  for  which 
June  longed  to  pull  his  ugly  nose,  vice  versa. 

The  time  had  now  come  for  June  to  show  her  hand. 


THE    VAN    ROON  135 

Very  quietly  indeed  her  bolt  was  launched.  William 
had  given  the  picture  to  her. 

The  old  man  simply  stared  at  her. 

It  was  clear,  however,  that  his  thoughts  were  run- 
ning so  hard  upon  M.  Duponnet  and  the  higher  poten- 
tialities that  just  at  first  he  was  not  able  to  grasp  the 
significance  of  June's  bald  statement. 

So  that  there  should  be  no  doubt  about  the  position 
June  modestly  repeated  it. 

"Given  it  to  you!"  said  the  old  man,  a  light  begin- 
ning to  break.  "How  do  you  mean — given  it  to  you  ?" 

Calmly,  patiently  June  threw  a  little  more  light  on 
the  subject.  And  while  she  did  so  her  eyes  were  fixed 
with  veiled  defiance  upon  the  face  of  Uncle  Si.  The 
thought  uppermost  in  her  mind  was  that  he  took  it  far 
better  than  could  have  been  expected.  "Given  it  to 
you,"  he  kept  on  saying  to  himself  softly.  There  was 
no  explosion.  "Given  it  to  you,"  he  kept  on.  He 
grew  a  little  green  about  the  gills  and  that  was  all. 

At  last  he  turned  to  William:  "Boy,  what's  this?  Is 
the  girl  daft?"  The  mildness  of  tone  was  astonishing. 

William  explained  as  well  as  he  could.  It  was  a 
lame  and  halting  performance,  and  at  that  moment 
June  was  not  proud  of  him.  But  she  was  even  less 
proud  of  herself.  The  part  she  was  playing,  gloss  it 
over  as  one  might,  was  ignoble.  And  William's  em- 
barrassment was  rather  painful  to  witness.  He  stam- 
mered a  good  deal,  he  grew  red  and  nervous;  and  all 
the  while  the  voice  of  his  kind  and  good  master  be- 
came more  deeply  reproachful,  and  melted  finally  in  a 
note  of  real  pathos.  "How  could  you  do  such  a 
thing?"  he  said.  "Why  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  my 
boy,  that  I  would  have  given  you  anything  in  reason 


136  THE   VAN   ROON 

for  that  picture — anything  in  reason."  And  there  he 
sat  at  his  supper,  the  very  image  of  outraged  benevo- 
lence and  enthusiasm,  a  Christian  with  a  halo! 

"Old  Serpent"  said  the  fierce  eyes  that  June  fixed 
upon  his  face.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  the  old 
wretch  was  going  to  shed  tears.  But  no,  he  was  con- 
tent with  a  mild  snufHe  and  that  was  all. 


XXIII 

BY  bedtime,  when  June  went  to  her  attic,  she  had 
fully  made  up  her  mind  that  there  must  be  no 
half  measures  now.  She  feared  Uncle  Si  more  than 
ever.  There  was  something  in  that  snuffle  at  the  sup- 
per table,  in  that  whine  of  outraged  feeling,  in  that 
down-gazing  eye  which  was  far  more  formidable  than 
any  mere  outburst  of  violence.  Here  was  such  a  depth 
of  hypocrisy  that  she  had  got  to  look  out. 

A  light  was  showing  under  the  studio  door.  June's 
knock  met  with  a  prompt  invitation  to  enter.  William 
was  affectionately  lingering  over  a  few  final  touches, 
which  should  prove  beyond  a  doubt  the  authenticity  of 
this  masterpiece. 

"Have  you  got  it  really  clean  at  last?"  said  June, 
trying  to  speak  lightly,  yet  not  succeeding.  Emotional 
strain  could  not  be  so  easily  concealed;  and — uncom- 
fortable thought — her  acting  was  not  so  finished  as  that 
of  Uncle  Si. 

"Yes,"  said  William,  with  a  little  thrill  of  rapture. 
"And  how  wonderful  it  is!" 

June  agreed.  "Yes,  wonderful !"  Also  with  a  little 
thrill  of  rapture,  yet  loathing  herself  because  her  tone 
was  so  vibrant — Uncle  Si  was  not  to  have  a  walk  over 
after  all !  "And  now  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  put  it  in  a 
place  of  safety." 

He  flashed  one  swift  glance  at  her.     "But,  Miss 
June,  isn't  it  quite  safe  here  ?" 
137 


138  THE   VAN    ROON 

"I  should  just  think  it  wasn't !"  leapt  to  the  tip  of  her 
tongue.  But  Uncle  Si's  masterly  snuffle  recalled  to  her 
mind  the  value  of  meiosis.  Thus  she  had  recourse  to  a 
gentle  "I  think  I'll  sleep  better  if  I  take  care  of  it  my- 
self," which  sounded  quite  disarming. 

With  one  of  his  deep  sighs  which  made  her  feel  a 
perfect  beast,  William  handed  over  the  picture.  "If 
you  only  knew,  if  you  could  only  guess  what  plea- 
sure this  exquisite  thing  would  give  the  dear  old 
master " 

Overcome  by  a  kind  of  nausea,  June  fled  headlong 
to  the  room  next  door.  She  groped  for  her  candle, 
found  and  lit  it;  and  then  she  proceeded  to  bury  the 
treasure  at  the  bottom  of  her  trunk.  Heaping  and 
pressing  down  as  many  things  upon  the  picture  as 
the  trunk  would  hold,  she  locked  it  carefully,  and  put 
the  key  in  her  purse.  Then  she  undressed,  knelt  and 
said  her  prayers;  she  then  blew  out  the  candCfe  and 
crept  into  bed  with  a  stifling  sense  of  disgust,  tempered 
by  grim  satisfaction. 


XXIV 

NEXT  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  June  looked 
for  developments.  To  her  surprise,  however, 
things  went  their  accustomed  way,  except  that  if  any- 
thing Uncle  Si  was  a  little  more  amiable  than  usual. 
He  made  no  reference  to  the  Van  Roon;  but  it  was 
referred  to  in  his  manner,  inasmuch  that  he  bore  bacon 
and  coffee  to  his  lips  with  the  air  of  a  known  good  man 
deeply  wounded  in  his  private  feelings.  Not  a  feather 
of  this  by-play  was  lost  upon  his  niece ;  and  no  doubt 
what  was  of  more  importance,  it  was  not  lost  upon 
Willir  *n.  But  its  impact  was  very  different  in  the  two 
cases.  While  June  simply  longed  to  hit  the  Old  Croco- 
dile upon  his  long  and  wicked  nose,  William  seemed 
hard  set  to  refrain  from  tears. 

About  midday,  however,  while  June  was  in  the  back 
kitchen  preparing  a  meal,  Uncle  Si  came  to  her. 

"Niece,"  he  said,  in  the  new  voice,  whose  .softness 
June  found  so  formidable,  "you  remember  the  other 
day  I  told  you  to  look  for  a  job?" 

June  nodded. 

"Have  you  got  one?" 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"Well,  Mrs.  R.  is  coming  back  on  Monday,  so  the 

sooner  you  get  fixed  up  the  better.  Your  best  plan,  I 

think,  is  to  go  this  afternoon  and  have  your  name  put 

down  at  a  registry  office  as  a  cook-general.     Cook- 

139 


140  THE   VAN    ROON 

generals  earn  good  money,  and  they  live  all  found. 
Your  cooking  won't  be  the  Carlton  or  the  Ritz,  of 
course" — a  gleam  of  frosty  humour  played  upon  that 
subtle  face — "but  you  seem  strong  and  willing,  and 
you  know  how  to  boil  a  potato,  and  no  doubt  you'll 
improve  with  experience." 

June  was  inclined  to  curtsey.  The  old  wretch 
plainly  felt  that  he  was  giving  her  a  handsome  testi- 
monial. But  at  the  back  of  her  mind  was  anger  and 
contempt,  and  it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  pre- 
vent their  peeping  out. 

After  dinner,  as  soon  as  the  table  was  clear,  and  the 
pots  washed,  she  proceeded  to  take  Uncle  Si  at  his 
word.  She  decided  to  go  out  at  once  and  look  for  a 
place  which,  however,  except  as  a  last  resort,  should 
not  be  domestic  service.  To  begin  with,  she  would  try 
the  shops,  or  perhaps  the  dressmakers,  as  her  mother 
always  said  she  was  handy  with  her  needle ;  or,  failing 
these,  she  might  consider  the  exciting  proposal  of  be- 
coming an  artist's  model. 

Fixing  her  hat  before  the  crazy  looking  glass  the 
thought  of  Mr.  Keller  recurred  to  her  mind.  Had  the 
day  only  been  Thursday  she  could  have  taken  the  pic- 
ture to  him  there  and  then,  and  had  his  opinion  upon 
it.  Not  that  such  a  course  would  have  been  altogether 
wise.  She  knew  nothing  about  this  new  and  rather 
mysterious  acquaintance,  beyond  the  fact  that  if  speech 
and  manner  meant  anything  he  was  a  gentleman.  Cer- 
tainly, to  talk  to  he  was  most  agreeable. 

Before  setting  out  on  her  pilgrimage,  she  had  to 
make  up  her  mind  as  to  whether  it  would  not  be  ad- 
visable to  take  the  Van  Roon  with  her,  and  put  it  in  a 
place  of  safety.  So  long  as  it  remained  under  that  roof 


THE   VAN   ROON  141 

it  was  in  jeopardy.  Uncle  Si  was  not  to  be  trusted  an 
inch.  The  fact,  however,  that  she  had  nowhere  to  take 
the  treasure  decided  her  finally  to  let  it  stay  where  it 
was  until  the  next  day. 

Anyway,  it  was  under  lock  and  key.  That  was  some- 
thing to  be  thankful  for;  yet  as  she  came  downstairs 
and  passed  through  the  shop  into  New  Cross  Street, 
drawing  on  her  neat  black  gloves  with  a  sinking  heart, 
instinct  told  her  that  she  was  taking  a  grave  risk  in 
leaving  the  picture  behind. 

No,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  not  to  be  trusted  for  a 
moment.  Of  that  she  was  quite  sure.  By  the  time 
she  had  gone  twenty  yards  along  the  street  this  feeling 
of  insecurity  took  such  a  hold  upon  her  that  she  stopped 
abruptly,  and  faced  about.  To  go  back?  Or  not  to  go 
back?  Indecision  was  unlike  her,  but  never  was  it  so 
hard  to  make  up  her  mind.  Could  it  be  that  Uncle  Si 
was  as  wicked  as  she  thought?  Perhaps  she  had  now 
become  the  prey  of  her  own  guilty  conscience.  In  any 
case,  she  knew  of  nowhere  just  then  in  which  to  place 
the  precious  thing ;  and  this  fact  it  was  that  turned  the 
scale  and  finally  settled  the  question. 

She  went  down  to  the  Strand,  and  took  a  bus  to 
Oxford  Circus.  That  Mecca,  alas,  did  not  prove  nearly 
so  stimulating  as  the  previous  afternoon.  As  soon  as 
she  came  really  to  grips  with  that  most  daunting  of  all 
tasks,  "the  looking  for  a  job,"  her  hopes  and  her  cour- 
age were  woefully  dashed.  Real  pluck  was  needed  to 
enter  such  a  palace  as  David  Jones  Limited,  to  go  up 
without  faltering  to  some  haughty  overseer  in  a  frock 
coat  and  spats  and  ask  if  an  assistant  was  wanted. 

Three  times,  in  various  shops,  she  screwed  herself 
to  the  heroic  pitch  of  asking  that  difficult  question. 


142  THE   VAN    ROON 

Three  times  she  met  with  a  chilling  response.  And 
the  only  gleam  of  hope  was  on  the  last  occasion. 

"There  is  one  vacancy,  I  believe,"  said  Olympian 
Zeus.  "But  all  applicants  must  apply  by  letter  for  a 
personal  interview  with  the  manager." 

Sooner  than  renew  the  attempt  just  then,  June  felt 
she  would  prefer  to  die.  A  girl  from  the  provinces, 
new  to  London  and  its  ways,  without  credentials  or 
friends,  or  knowledge  of  "the  ropes"  must  not  expect 
to  be  taken  on,  at  any  rate  in  Oxford  Street. 

Much  cast  down  she  returned  to  her  teashop  of  yes- 
terday. Seated  at  the  same  table,  her  mind  went  back 
to  the  fascinating  acquaintance  she  had  made  there. 
Was  it  possible  that  a  career  had  been  offered  her? 
Or  was  the  suggestion  of  this  new  friend  merely  the 
outcome  of  a  keen  interest  in  the  picture? 

It  could  not  be  so  entirely,  because  she  clearly  re- 
membered that  Mr.  Keller  had  proposed  her  sitting  to 
him  as  a  model  before  she  had  mentioned  the  picture 
at  all. 

She  went  back  to  New  Cross  Street  in  a  state  of 
gloom;  her  mind  was  dominated  by  a  sense  of  being 
"up  against  it."  And  this  unhappy  feeling  was  not 
softened  by  the  discovery  she  made  as  soon  as  she  en- 
tered that  cold  and  uninviting  garret.  In  her  absence 
the  lock  of  her  trunk  had  been  forced  and  the  picture 
taken  away. 

The  tragedy  was  exactly  what  she  had  foreseen. 
But  faced  by  the  bitter  fact  she  was  swept  by  a  tempest 
of  rage.  It  could  only  be  the  work  of  one  person.  Her 
fear  and  dislike  of  Uncle  Si  rose  to  hatred  now. 

In  a  surge  of  anger  she  went  downstairs  and  in  the 
presence  of  William  charged  Uncle  Si. 


THE   VAN    ROON  143 

"You've  been  at  my  box,"  she  stormed. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  kind,  of  calm  pensiveness 
over  the  top  of  his  spectacles. 

"If  you  lock  away  things,  my  girl,  that  don't  belong 
to  you,  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  stand  the  racket."  So 
lofty,  so -severe  was  the  old  man's  tone  that  for  the 
moment  June  was  staggered. 

"It's  stealing,"  she  cried,  returning  hectic  to  the 
attack. 

Uncle  Si  waggled  a  magisterial  finger  in  her  face. 
"Niece,"  he  said,  with  a  quietude  which  put  her  at  a 
disadvantage,  "I  must  ask  you  not  to  make  an  exhibi- 
tion of  yourself.  Have  the  goodness  to  hold  your 
tongue." 

June  maintained  the  charge.  "The  picture's  mine. 
William  gave  it  me.  You've  broken  open  my  box  and 
stolen  it." 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  after  a  mild  side  glance  in  the 
direction  of  William,  proceeded  to  fix  a  glacial  eye 
upon  his  niece.  "What  I  have  to  say  is  this."  His  tone 
was  more  magisterial  than  ever.  "At  present,  my  girl, 
you  are  under  age,  and  as  long  as  you  live  with  me  the 
law  regards  me  as  your  guardian.  And,  as  I  have  told 
William  already,  in  my  opinion  you  are  not  a  fit  and 
proper  person  to  have  the  care  of  a  thing  so  valuable 
as  this  picture  may  prove  to  be.  Mind  you," — the  old 
fox  gave  William  a  meaningful  look — "I  don't  go  so 
far  as  to  say  that  it  is  valuable,  but  I  say  that  it  might 
be.  And,  in  that  case,  I  can't  allow  a  mere  ignorant 
girl  from  the  country  who,  in  a  manner  of  speaking, 
doesn't  know  the  letter  A  from  a  pig's  foot  to  accept 
it  from  you,  my  boy.  It's  very  generous  of  you,  and 
I  hope  she's  thanked  you  properly,  but  if  I  allow  her 


144  THE   VAN    ROON 

to  take  it,  some  unscrupulous  dealer  is  sure  to  bam- 
boozle her  out  of  it.  That's  assuming  it's  valuable, 
which,  of  course,  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is." 

"Thief!"  stormed  June.     "Wicked  thief!" 

However,  she  knew  well  enough  that  it  was  a  real 
pity  to  let  her  feelings  get  the  better  of  her ;  it  enabled 
the  Old  Crocodile  to  shine  so  much  by  comparison.  He 
addressed  himself  to  William  in  his  most  sanctimonious 
manner.  For  the  good  of  all  concerned,  such  a  bee- 
yew-ti-ful  thing — it  sickened  June  to  see  the  old  hum- 
bug lift  his  eyes  to  heaven — must  be  cared  for  by  him 
personally.  An  uneducated  mawkin  could  not  hope  to 
appreciate  a  work  of  art  of  that  quality,  and  if  anything 
happened  to  it,  as  in  such  hands  something  inevitably 
must,  William's  master  would  never  be  able  to  forgive 
himself,  he  wouldn't  really! 

The  old  man  spoke  so  gently  and  so  plausibly  and 
hovered  at  times  so  near  to  tears,  that  William  would 
have  been  less  than  human  not  to  have  been  moved  by 
his  words.  Uncle  Si  had  not  the  least  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing clear  to  his  assistant  that  he  was  swayed  by  the 
highest  motives.  His  own  private  regard  for  the  pic- 
ture, which,  of  course,  William  must  know  was  in- 
tense, did  not  enter  into  the  case  at  all;  but  wisdom 
and  experience  declared  that  until  Monsieur  Duponnet 
of  Paris  had  seen  the  picture  it  must  remain  in  respon- 
sible hands. 

"But  I  tell  you  the  picture's  mine,  mine,  mine!" 
cried  June. 

No,  the  picture  was  William's.  That  outstanding 
fact  was  emphasized  again  in  his  master's  kindly 
voice.  Was  he  not  William's  guardian  also  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law?  Not  for  a  moment  could  he  think  of  al- 


THE   VAN    ROON  145 

lowing  the  young  man  in  a  fit  of  weak  generosity  to 
give  away  a  thing  that  might  prove  to  be  a  real  work 
of  art. 

June  was  a  little  disappointed  by  William's  attitude 
in  the  matter.  The  way  in  which  he  submitted  to  Uncle 
Si  did  him  no  credit.  Surely  the  picture  was  his  to  do 
with  as  he  chose;  yet  to  judge  by  Uncle  Si's  handling 
of  the  affair  the  young  man  had  no  right  to  dispose  of 
it.  June  deplored  this  lack  of  spirit.  He  should  have 
fought  for  his  own.  At  the  same  time,  her  mind  was 
tormented  by  the  unpleasant  thought  that  he  really 
wanted  to  revoke  his  gift. 

The  more  she  considered  the  position,  the  less  she 
liked  it.  She  could  not  rid  herself  of  a  feeling  that 
she  was  playing  an  unworthy  part.  It  was  all  very  well 
to  regard  her  actions  as  strictly  in  William's  interest. 
But  were  they  ?  She  was  haunted  by  a  sense  of  having 
descended  perilously  near  to  the  level  of  Uncle  Si  him- 
self. 

Anyhow,  she  had  tried  her  best  to  outwit  S.  Gedgc 
Antiques.  And  he  had  outwitted  her.  There  was  no 
disguising  it.  Both  were  playing  the  same  game,  the 
same  crooked  game,  and  it  seemed  that  Uncle  Si,  as 
was  only  to  be  expected,  was  able  to  play  it  much  better 
than  could  she.  The  artful  old  fox  had  bested  her 
with  her  own  weapons.  Were  they  not  equally  unscru- 
pulous? Was  not  William  the  toy  of  both? 


XXV 

IN  the  course  01  the  next  morning,  June  was  in- 
formed by  Uncle  Si,  with  his  most  sanctimonious 
air  that  "he  could  not  pass  over  her  impudence,  and  that 
she  had  better  pack  her  box  and  go."  Moreover,  that 
force  might  be  lent  to  this  ukase,  he  sternly  summoned 
William  from  the  lumber  room,  and  ordered  the  young 
man  to  help  her  down  with  her  box  as  soon  as  it  was 
ready ;  and  then  he  must  fetch  her  a  cab. 

This  was  more  than  June  had  bargained  for.  She 
was  expecting  to  be  kicked  out ;  but  she  had  not  looked 
for  the  process  to  be  quite  so  summary.  It  did  not 
suit  her  plans  at  all. 

"Get  a  room  for  yourself  in  a  decent  neighbour- 
hood," said  the  old  man.  "Mrs.  Runciman  will  know 
of  one,  no  doubt.  You've  money  enough  to  keep  you 
while  you  look  for  work." 

June's  swift  mind,  however,  saw  instant  disadvan- 
tages. Secretly,  she  cherished  the  hope,  a  slender  one, 
no  doubt,  of  being  able  to  discover  where  the  picture 
was  hid.  Once,  however,  she  left  the  house  that  hope 
would  vanish.  And  it  was  painfully  clear  that  it  was 
Uncle  Si's  recognition  of  this  fact  which  now  made 
him  so  determined  to  be  quit  of  her. 

The  old  serpent  was  fully  alive  to  what  lay  at  the 
back  of  her  mind.    He  knew  that  so  long  as  she  slept 
under  his  roof  the  picture  could  never  be  safe. 
146 


THE   VAN    ROON  147 

She  was  shrewd  enough  to  size  up  the  position  at 
once.  Reading  the  purpose  in  the  heart  of  Uncle  Si 
she  told  him  plainly  that  much  as  she  disliked  her 
present  address  she  did  not  propose  to  change  it  until 
her  lawful  property  had  been  restored  to  her. 

"You  are  going  to  leave  this  place  within  an  hour, 
my  girl,  for  good  and  all." 

"I  shall  not,"  said  June  flatly.  "Until  you  give  me 
the  picture,  I  don't  intend  to  stir." 

"The  picture  is  not  yours.  You  are  not  a  fit  person 
to  have  it.  And  if  you  don't  go  quietly  your  box  will 
be  put  into  the  street." 

"Dare  to  touch  my  box  again,  and  I  shall  go  straight 
to  the  police." 

Uncle  Si  didn't  care  a  straw  for  the  police.  She  had 
not  the  slightest  claim  upon  him ;  in  fact  she  was  living 
on  his  charity.  As  for  the  picture,  it  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  matter. 

At  this  point  it  was  that  William  came  out  in  his 
true  colours.  He  had  been  standing  by,  unwilling  wit- 
ness of  these  passages.  Anxiously  concerned,  he  could 
no  longer  keep  silent. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  stammering  pain- 
fully, and  flushing  deeply,  "but  if  Miss  June  leaves 
the  house,  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  go  as  well." 

This  was  a  thunderbolt.  S.  Gedge  Antiques  opened 
his  mouth  in  wide  astonishment.  He  gasped  like  a 
carp.  The  atmospheric  displacement  was  terrific. 
Slowly  the  old  man  took  off  his  "selling"  spectacles, 
and  replaced  them  with  his  "buying"  ones.  Certainly 
the  effect  was  to  make  him  look  a  shade  less  truculent, 
but  at  the  moment  there  was  no  other  result.  "Boy, 
don't  talk  like  a  fool,"  was  all  he  could  say. 


148  THE   VAN   ROON 

William,  however,  was  not  to  be  moved.  He  never 
found  it  easy  to  make  up  his  mind ;  for  him  to  reach  a 
decision  in  things  that  mattered  was  a  slow  and  trying 
process.  But  the  task  achieved  it  was  for  good  or  ill. 
His  stammers  and  blushes  were  a  little  ludicrous,  he 
seemed  near  to  tears,  but  the  open  hostility  of  his 
master  could  not  turn  him  an  inch. 

"Never  in  my  born  days  did  I  hear  the  like."  S. 
Gedge  Antiques  seethed  like  a  vipers'  nest  "Boy, 
you  ought  to  be  bled  for  the  simples  to  let  a  paltry 
hussy  get  round  you  in  this  way." 

"Give  me  the  picture,  Uncle  Si,"  cried  the  paltry 
hussy,  with  a  force  that  made  him  blink,  "and  I'll  take 
precious  good  care  you  don't  see  me  again." 

The  old  man  whinnied  with  rage.  But  he  had  not 
the  least  intention  of  giving  up  the  picture;  nor  had 
he  the  least  intention  of  giving  up  that  which  was 
almost  as  valuable,  the  services  of  his  right-hand  man. 
William  was  irreplaceable.  And  the  instant  his  master 
realised  that  this  odd  fellow  was  very  much  in  earnest, 
he  saw  that  there  was  only  one  line  to  take.  He  must 
temporize.  With  all  the  tact  he  could  muster,  and  on 
occasion  the  old  man  could  muster  a  good  deal,  the 
Old  Crocodile  proceeded  to  do  so. 

The  "firing"  of  his  niece  should  stand  in  abeyance 
for  the  time  being.  He  gave  solemn  warning,  however, 
that  she  must  get  a  job  right  away,  as  his  mind  was 
quite  made  up  that  he  was  not  going  to  find  house  room 
for  the  likes  of  her  an  hour  longer  than  he  could  help. 
As  for  the  boy,  of  whom  he  had  always  held  such  a 
high  opinion  ever  since  the  day  he  had  first  picked  him 
out  of  the  gutter  and  upon  whom  he  had  lavished  a 
father's  kindness,  he  was  really  quite  at  a  loss — with  a 


THE   VAN    ROON  149 

snuffle  of  heart-melting  pathos — to  know  how  to  put  his 
deeply  wounded  feelings  into  words. 

For  June,  all  the  same,  the  upshot  was  victory.  The 
inevitable  packing  of  her  box  could  be  postponed  to 
her  own  good  time.  But  well  she  knew  that  the  re- 
prieve was  due  to  William  and  to  him  alone.  It  was 
his  splendidly  timed  intervention  that  had  enabled  her 
to  win  the  day. 

The  previous  evening  harsh  thoughts  of  the  Sawney 
had  crept  into  her  heart.  After  giving  her  the  picture, 
surely  it  was  his  duty  to  take  a  stronger  line  upon  the 
rape  of  it.  But  that  phase  of  weakness  was  forgotten 
now.  He  had  come  out  nobly.  At  a  most  critical 
moment  he  had  fought  her  battle ;  and  he  had  fought 
it  with  magical  effect. 

All  was  forgiven.    He  was  O.  K. 


XXVI 

JUNE  was  dominated  now  by  a  single  thought.  By 
hook  or  by  crook  she  must  get  back  the  picture 
before  she  left  that  house.  If  she  failed  to  do  so,  she 
would  never  see  it  again,  and  there  would  be  an  end 
of  all  her  hopes.  Exactly  what  these  hopes  were  she 
did  not  venture  to  ask  herself ;  in  any  case,  they  would 
not  have  been  easy  to  put  into  words.  But  she  felt 
in  a  vague  way  that  William's  future  and  her  own 
were  bound  up  in  them. 

It  was  clear  that  the  picture  was  concealed  some- 
where upon  the  premises,  because  Mr.  Thornton  and  his 
friend,  M.  Duponnet,  were  coming  there  the  next  day 
to  look  at  it.  June  was  quick  to  realize  that  this  fact 
offered  a  measure  of  opportunity  which,  slender  as  it 
was,  must  certainly  be  used.  No  other  was  in  the  least 
likely  to  come  her  way. 

Three  o'clock  on  Thursday  afternoon  she  had  learned 
already  was  the  hour  of  the  appointment.  It  was  now 
the  afternoon  of  Wednesday.  No  matter  what  the 
penalty,  if  flesh  and  blood  could  contrive  it,  she  must 
be  present  at  this  interview,  and  see  what  happened  to 
the  treasure. 

Despair  heavy  upon  her,  she  lay  awake  the  best  part 
of  the  night  searching  her  mind  for  a  plan  of  action. 
But  the  quest  seemed  hopeless.  Uncle  Si  could  so  easily 
thwart  any  scheme  she  might  evolve.  And  he  would 
not  have  a  scruple.  She  must  outwit  him  somehow, 
ISO 


THE   VAN   ROON  151 

but  to  outwit  one  of  such  cunning  was  a  task  for  a 
brain  far  stronger  and  nimbler  than  hers. 

Lying  up  there  in  her  comfortless  bed,  wild  thoughts 
flocking  round  her  pillow  like  so  many  evil  spirits,  the 
whole  sorry  affair  was  as  haunting  as  a  bad  dream. 
And,  interwoven  with  it,  in  the  most  fantastic  way,  was 
the  shop  below,  and  more  particularly  the  Hoodoo, 
the  presiding  genius,  which  now  stood  forth  in  June's 
mind  as  the  replica  of  Uncle  Si  himself.  He  was  surely 
possessed  by  a  devil,  and  this  heathen  joss  as  surely 
embodied  it. 

On  Thursday  morning  June  rose  early.  She  was  in 
a  mood  of  desperation.  Little  sleep  had  come  to  her  in 
the  long  and  dreary  night  hours.  But,  in  spite  of  feel- 
ing quite  worn  out,  her  determination  to  "best"  Uncle 
Si  and  regain  her  own  property  had  not  grown  less. 
No  ray  was  to  be  seen  anywhere,  yet  defiant  of  fate  as 
she  still  was,  the  time  had  not  yet  come  to  admit  even 
to  herself  that  all  was  lost. 

As  dustpan  and  brush  in  hand  she  began  the  day's 
work,  more  than  one  reckless  expedient  crossed  her 
mind.  In  the  last  resort  she  might  put  the  matter  in 
the  hands  of  the  police.  If  she  could  have  counted  on 
William's  support,  she  would  have  been  tempted  to  do 
this,  but  the  rub  was,  he  could  not  be  depended  on  at 
all.  Nobly  as  he  had  fought  her  recent  battle,  it  was 
clear  that  so  far  as  the  picture  itself  was  concerned, 
his  sympathies  were  wholly  with  Uncle  Si.  Even  if 
he  did  not  deny  that  the  picture  was  her  lawful  prop- 
erty he  had  certainly  done  his  best  to  revoke  his  gift. 

No,  she  would  gain  nothing  by  calling  in  the  police. 
She  must  find  some  other  way.  During  the  night  a 
wild  plan  had  entered  her  mind.  And  if  in  the  course 


152  THE   VAN    ROON 

of  the  morning  no  scheme  more  hopeful  occurred  to 
her,  she  was  now  resolved  to  act  upon  it. 

To  this  end,  she  began  at  once  to  throw  dust  in  the 
eyes  of  Uncle  Si.  At  the  breakfast  table  he  was  told 
that  she  meant  to  spend  the  afternoon  looking  for  a 
job  if,  with  a  modest  eye  on  her  plate,  "he  had  no 
objection." 

The  Old  Crocodile  had  not  the  least  objection.  With 
gusto  he  assured  her  that  it  was  quite  the  best  thing 
she  could  do.  Privately  he  assured  himself  that  he 
didn't  want  her  hanging  around  the  place  while  he  was 
transacting  business  of  great  importance  with  Mr. 
Thornton  and  Monsieur  Duponnet.  Ever  in  the  fore- 
front of  his  mind  was  the  fact  that  these  gentlemen 
were  coming  to  see  him  at  three  o'clock. 

About  an  hour  before  the  time  appointed  the  old  fox 
sent  William  on  an  errand  which  would  keep  him  away 
most  of  the  afternoon.  And  further  to  ensure  that 
the  coast  should  be  quite  clear,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  said 
sharply  to  his  niece,  "Go  and  put  on  your  hat,  my  girl, 
and  make  yourself  scarce.  Get  after  that  job  you  spoke 
about.  I  won't  have  you  hanging  around  while  these 
gentlemen  are  here." 

June,  however,  had  other  views.  And  these,  what- 
ever they  were,  she  was  at  great  pains  not  to  disclose. 
First  she  watched  William  go  innocently  forth  on  a 
long  bus  ride  to  Richmond.  Next  she  made  sure  that 
Uncle  Si  was  composing  himself  in  his  armchair  for 
his  usual  "forty  winks"  after  dinner.  And  then  she 
proceeded  boldly  to  develop  her  audacious  design. 

To  start  with,  she  crept  into  the  front  shop  and  sur- 
veyed the  Hoodoo.  The  quaintly  hideous  vase  was 
fully  six  feet  tall,  its  body  huge,  its  mouth  wide.  Was 


THE   VAN    ROON  153 

it  possible  to  get  inside?  There  was  little  doubt  that 
if  she  was  able  to  do  so,  this  curious  monster  was  quite 
large  enough  to  conceal  her. 

She  saw  at  once  that  the  task  before  her  was  no 
light  one.  But  by  the  side  of  the  Hoodoo,  inscrutable 
Providence  had  placed  a  genuine  antique  in  the  shape 
of  a  gate-legged  table,  £4.19.6 — a  great  bargain.  The 
sight  of  this  was  encouraging.  She  climbed  onto  it. 
And  then  wedging  the  Hoodoo  most  cunningly  between 
the  table  and  the  wall,  and  artfully  disposing  her  own 
weight,  so  that  the  monster  might  not  tip  over,  she 
lowered  herself  with  the  caution  and  agility  of  a  cat 
into  the  roomy  interior. 

It  was  almost  a  feat  for  an  acrobat,  but  she  managed 
it  somehow.  Keeping  tight  hold  of  the  rim  as  she 
swung  both  legs  over,  her  feet  touched  bottom  with  the 
vase  still  maintaining  the  perpendicular.  The  space 
inside  was  ample,  and  without  even  the  need  to  bend, 
the  top  of  her  head  was  invisible.  Near  the  top  of  the 
vase,  moreover,  was  the  monster's  open  mouth,  a  nar- 
row slit  studded  with  teeth,  which  not  only  afforded  a 
means  of  ventilation,  but  also  through  which,  to  June's 
devout  joy,  she  was  able  to  peer. 

For  such  a  crowning  boon  on  the  part  of  Providence 
she  had  every  reason  to  feel  grateful.  So  far  every- 
thing was  miraculously  right.  Her  daring  had  met 
with  more  success  than  could  have  been  hoped  for. 
One  problem  remained,  however,  which  at  that  moment 
she  did  not  venture  to  look  in  the  face.  To  get  into 
the  vase  was  one  thing ;  to  get  out  of  it  would  be  quite 
another. 

No  friendly  table  could  avail  her  now.  In  ascending 
that  sheer  and  slippery  face  of  painted  metal- work, 


154  THE   VAN   ROON 

she  must  not  expect  help  from  outside  when  the  time 
came  to  escape  from  her  prison.  Besides  one  incautious 
movement  might  cause  the  whole  thing  to  topple.  And 
if  topple  it  did,  the  results  would  be  dire. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  time  to  consider  that 
aspect  of  the  case.  Let  her  be  thankful  for  a  conceal- 
ment so  perfect  which  allowed  her  to  breathe  and  to 
see  without  being  seen  or  her  presence  suspected.  For 
such  material  benefits  she  must  lift  up  her  heart;  and 
hope  for  the  best  when  the  time  came  to  get  out.  With 
a  sense  of  grim  satisfaction  she  set  herself  "to  lie 
doggo,"  and  await  the  next  turn  in  a  game  that  was 
full  of  peril. 

It  was  not  long  before  Uncle  Si  shambled  into  the 
shop.  June  could  see  him  quite  clearly,  as  he  came  in 
with  that  furtive  air  which  she  had  learned  to  know  so 
well.  First  he  took  off  his  spectacles  and  applied  to 
them  vigorously  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  Then 
he  peered  cautiously  round  to  make  sure  that  he  was 
alone. 

June  had  not  dared  to  hope  that  the  picture  was  con- 
cealed in  the  shop;  and  yet  it  offered  every  facility. 
There  were  many  nooks  and  crannies,  and  the  whole 
place  was  crammed  with  old  pieces  of  furniture,  bric- 
a-brac,  curios.  But  Jane  had  felt  that  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques was  not  likely  to  run  the  risk  of  hiding  his 
treasure  in  the  midst  of  these.  She  thought  that  his 
bedroom,  under  lock  and  key,  was  the  most  likely  place 
of  all. 

Howbeit,  with  a  sharp  thrill,  half  torment,  half  de- 
light, she  saw  that  this  was  not  the  case.  Within  a 
few  feet  of  the  Hoodoo  itself  was  an  old  oak  chest 
which  Uncle  Si  cautiously  drew  aside.  The  very  spot 


THE   VAN   ROOM  155 

whereon  it  had  rested  contained  a  loose  board.  He 
took  a  small  chisel  from  a  drawer  in  the  counter, 
prised  up  the  board  and  from  beneath  it  took  forth 
the  buried  treasure. 

Long  and  lovingly  the  old  man  looked  at  it,  hugging 
it  to  his  breast  more  than  once  in  the  process,  and  as 
he  did  so  June  was  reminded  irresistibly  of  the  Miser 
Gaspard  in  "Les  Cloches  des  Corneville,"  that  famous 
play  she  had  once  seen  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Black- 
hampton.  To  hide  such  a  thing  in  such  a  place  was  a 
regular  miser's  trick.  It  was  just  what  she  had  ex- 
pected of  him.  Presently  a  grandfather  clock,  with  a 
Westminster  Abbey  face,  "guaranteed  Queen  Anne," 
chimed  the  hour  of  three.  June  could  scarcely  breathe 
for  excitement.  Her  heart  seemed  to  rise  in  her  throat 
and  choke  her. 

At  five  minutes  past  three  came  Mr.  Thornton  and 
Monsieur  Duponnet.  The  Frenchman  was  a  small  and 
dapper  personage,  with  a  keen  eye  and  a  neat  imperial. 
In  manner  he  was  much  quieter  than  tradition  exacts 
of  a  Frenchman,  but  it  was  easy  to  tell  that  Uncle  Si 
was  much  impressed  by  him.  Louis  Quinze-legs,  too, 
was  full  of  deference.  That  gentleman,  whose  face  was 
almost  as  foxy  as  that  of  Uncle  Si  himself,  and  about 
whose  lips  a  thin  smile  flitted  perpetually,  had  an  air 
of  tacit  homage  for  the  smallest  remark  of  M.  Dupon- 
net, who  was  clearly  a  man  of  great  consequence  if  the 
bearing  of  Mr.  Thornton  was  anything  to  go  by. 

June,  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  inside  the  Hoodoo  and 
her  keen  eyes  hidden  by  its  half-open  jaws,  which,  in 
addition  to  other  advantages  was  partly  masked  by  a 
litter  of  bric-a-brac,  was  in  a  position  to  gain  full 
knowledge  of  all  that  passed  between  these  three.  To 


156  THE   VAN    ROON 

begin  with,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  ceremoniously  handed 
the  picture  to  Louis  Quinze-legs  who,  with  a  fine  ges- 
ture, handed  it  to  Monsieur  Duponnet. 

The  Frenchman  examined  the  canvas  back  and  front 
through  his  own  private  glass,  scratched  portions  of  it 
with  his  nail,  pursed  his  lips,  rubbed  his  nose,  and  no 
doubt  would  have  shrugged  his  shoulders  had  not  that 
been  such  a  jejune  thing  for  a  Frenchman  to  do. 

With  a  deference  that  was  quite  impressive,  Mr. 
Thornton  and  S.  Gedge  Antiques  waited  for  M.  Dupon- 
net to  say  something. 

"Ze  tail  of  ze  R.  is  a  little  faint,  hein !"  was  what  he 
said. 

"But  it  is  a  tail,  Mussewer,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
in  a  robust  voice. 

"And  it  is  an  R,"  said  polite  Mr.  Thornton,  as  he 
bent  over  the  picture. 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  that,"  said  S.  Gedge 
Antiques. 

M.  Duponnet  did  not  seem  inclined  to  wager  any- 
thing so  valuable  as  his  life.  After  a  little  hesitation, 
which  involved  further  minute  examination  through 
his  glass,  he  was  ready  to  take  the  'R'  for  granted.  But 
he  went  on  to  deplore  the  fact  that  the  picture  was  with- 
out a  pedigree. 

"A  pedigree,  Mussewer!"  It  was  now  the  turn  of 
S.  Gedge  Antiques  to  rub  his  nose. 

M.  Duponnet  succinctly  explained,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  expounding  a  commonplace  in  the  world  of  art, 
that  Van  Roons  were  so  few,  their  qualities  so  rare, 
their  monetary  value  so  considerable,  that  as  soon  as 
one  came  into  the  market  its  history  was  eagerly  scru- 
tinised. And  should  one  suddenly  appear  that  pre- 


THE   VAN   ROON  157 

viously  had  not  been  known  to  exist  it  would  have  to 
run  the  gauntlet  of  the  most  expert  criticism. 

"May  be,  Mussewer !"  S.  Gedge  Antiques  wagged  a 
dour  head.  "But  that's  not  going  to  alter  the  fact  that 
this  be-yew-ti-ful  thing  is  a  genuine  Van  Roon." 

In  a  manner  of  speaking  it  would  not,  agreed  M. 
Duponnet,  but  it  might  detract  considerably  from  its 
market  value. 

"That's  as  may  be."  The  old  man  suddenly  assumed 
quite  a  high  tone. 

M.  Duponnet  and  Mr.  Thornton  took  the  picture  to 
the  other  side  of  the  shop  and  conferred  together. 
So  low  were  their  voices  that  neither  Uncle  Si  nor 
June  could  hear  a  word  of  what  passed  between  them. 
Times  and  again  they  held  the  canvas  to  the  light. 
They  laid  it  on  a  tallboys,  and  pored  over  it;  they 
borrowed  the  microscope  of  one  another  and  made 
great  show  of  using  it ;  and  then  finally  Mr.  Thornton 
crossed  the  floor  and  said  to  Uncle  Si,  who  was 
handling  a  piece  of  Waterford  glass  with  the  most 
pensive  unconcern:  "What's  your  price,  Mr.  Gedge?" 

"Heh?"  said  the  old  man,  as  if  emerging  from  a 
beautiful  dream.  "Price  ?  You  had  better  name  one." 

Excitement  at  this  point  seemed  to  cause  June's 
heart  to  stop  beating. 

"The  trouble  is,"  said  Mr.  Thornton,  "our  friend, 
M.  Duponnet,  is  not  quite  convinced  that  it  is  a  Van 
Roon." 

"But  there's  the  signature." 

"It  seems  to  have  been  touched  up  a  bit." 

"Not  by  me,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  austerely. 

"We  don't  ^hink  that  for  a  moment,"  said  Mr. 
Thornton,  in  a  voice  of  honey.  "But  the  signature  is 


158  THE   VAN    ROON 

by  no  means  so  clear  as  it  might  be,  and  in  the  absence 
of  a  pedigree  M.  Duponnet  does  not  feel  justified  in 
paying  a  big  price." 

There  was  a  pause  while  the  old  man  indulged  in  a 
dramatic  change  of  spectacles.  And  then  he  said  rather 
sourly,  in  a  tone  that  M.  Duponnet  could  not  fail  to 
hear:  "Pedigree  or  no  pedigree,  I  shall  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  selling  it.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Mr. 
Thornton,  that  American  buyers  are  in  the  market." 

"Quite  so,  Mr.  Gedge,"  said  Mr.  Thornton  suavely. 
And  then  while  Uncle  Si  glared  at  both  gentlemen  as 
if  they  had  been  caught  with  their  hands  in  his  pocket, 
they  conferred  again  together.  This  time  it  was  M. 
Puponnet  who  ended  their  discussion  by  saying:  "Mees- 
ter  Gedge,  name  your  figure!" 

"Figure?"  said  Uncle  Si  dreamily;  and  then  in  his 
odd  way  he  scratched  his  scrub  of  whisker  with  a 
thumbnail  and  rubbed  a  forefinger  down  his  long  and 
foxlike  nose. 

"Your  price.  Meester  Gedge?" 

"Mussewer !"  said  the  old  man  solemnly,  "I  couldn't 
take  less  than  five  thousand  pounds,  I  couldn't  really." 

June  held  her  breath.  For  some  little  time  past  she 
had  been  convinced  that  the  picture  was  valuable,  but 
she  was  hardly  prepared  for  this  fabulous  sum. 

M.  Duponnet  shook  his  head.  "Meester  Gedge,  if 
only  we  had  its  'i  story !" 

"If  we  had  its  history,  Mussewer,  I  should  want  at 
least  twice  the  money.  Even  as  it  is  I  am  taking  a  big 
chance.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

This  seemed  to  be  true.  At  all  events,  M.  Duponnet 
and  Mr.  Thornton  again  talked  earnestly  together. 


THE   VAN    ROON  159 

Once  more  they  fingered  that  rather  dilapidated  canvas. 
Head  to  head  they  bent  over  it  yet  again;  and  then 
suddenly  M.  Duponnet  looked  up  and  came  abruptly 
across  to  the  old  man. 

"Meester  Gedge,"  he  said,  "I  can't  go  beyond  four 
t'ousand  pounds.  That  is  my  limit!" 

"Five,  Mussewer  Duponny,  that  is  mine,"  said  Uncle 
Si,  with  a  dark  smile. 

It  was  a  jejune  thing  for  a  French  gentleman  to  do, 
but  at  this  point  M.  Duponnet  really  and  truly  gave  his 
shoulders  a  shrug,  and  advanced  three  paces  towards 
the  shop  door.  "Uncle  Si  did  not  stir  a  muscle.  And 
then  M.  Duponnet  faced  about  and  said:  "Guineas, 
Meester  Gedge,  I'll  give  four  t'ousand  guineas,  and 
that's  my  last  word." 

Uncle  Si  having  no  pretensions  to  be  considered  a 
French  gentleman,  did  not  hesitate  to  give  his  own 
shoulders  a  shrug.  It  was  his  turn  then  to  confer  with 
the  discreet  and  knowledgeable  Mr.  Thornton,  who  it 
was  clear  was  acting  the  difficult  part  of  a  go-between. 

June  heard  that  gentleman  say  in  an  audible  whisper: 
"A  fair  price,  Mr.  Gedge,  for  the  thing  as  it  stands. 
It  hasn't  a  pedigree,  and  to  me  that  signature  looks  a 
bit  doubtful.  In  the  market  it  may  fetch  more  or  it 
may  fetch  less,  but  at  the  same  time  four  thousand 
guineas  is  a  fine  insurance." 

Finished  dissembler  as  Uncle  Si  was,  even  he  did 
not  seek  to  deny  the  truth  of  this.  There  could  be  no 
gainsaying  that  four  thousand  guineas  was  a  fine  in- 
surance. True,  if  the  picture  proved  to  be  a  veritable 
Van  Roon  it  might  fetch  many  times  that  sum.  In  that 
shrewd  mind,  no  bigger  miracle  was  needed  for  the 
thing  to  turn  out  a  chef  d'ceuvre  than  that  it  should 


160  THE   VAN    ROON 

prove  to  be  worth  the  sum  offered  by  M.  Duponnet. 
Either  contingency  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  Be- 
sides, S.  Gedge  Antiques  belonged  to  a  conservative 
school,  among  whose  articles  of  faith  was  a  certain 
trite  proverb  about  a  bird  in  the  hand. 

It  went  to  the  old  man's  heart  to  accept  four  thou- 
sand guineas  for  a  work  that  might  be  worth  so  very 
much  more.  June  could  hear  him  breathing  heavily. 
In  her  tense  ear  that  sound  dominated  even  the  furious 
beating  of  her  own  heart.  A  kind  of  dizziness  came 
over  her,  as  only  too  surely  she  understood  that  the 
wicked  old  man  was  giving  in.  Before  her  very  eyes 
he  was  going  to  surrender  her  own  private  property  for 
a  fabulous  sum. 

"Four  t'ousand  guineas,  Meester  Gedge,"  said  M. 
Duponnet,  with  quite  an  air  of  nonchalance.  But  he 
knew  well  enough  that  the  old  man  was  about  to  "fall." 

"It's  giving  it  away,  Mussewer,"  whined  Uncle  Si. 
"It's  giving  it  away." 

"Zat  I  don't  t'ink,  Meester  Gedge,"  said  the  French 
gentleman,  quietly  unbuttoning  his  coat  and  taking  a 
fountain  pen  and  a  cheque  book  from  an  inner  pocket. 
"It's  a  risque — a  big  risque.  It  may  not  be  Van  Roon 
at  all — and  zen  where  are  we?" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it's  a  Van  Roon," 
Uncle  Si  verged  almost  upon  tears. 

"Very  well,  Meester  Gedge,  if  you  prefer  ze  big 
chance."  And  cheque  book  in  hand  the  French  gentle- 
man paused. 

June  was  torn.  And  she  could  tell  by  the  strange 
whine  in  the  rasping  voice  that  the  Old  Crocodile  was 
also  torn. 

At  this  moment  of  crisis,  Mr.  Thornton  interposed 


THE   VAN   ROON  161 

with  masterful  effect.  "In  my  humble  opinion,"  he 
said,  "it's  a  very  fair  offer  for  the  thing  as  it  stands." 

"You  are  thinking  of  your  ten  per  cent,  commission, 
my  boy,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques  with  a  gleam  of 
malice. 

"Well,  Meester  Gedge,"  said  M.  Duponnet,  "take  it 
or  leave  it."  And  the  French  gentleman  began  to  fold 
up  his  cheque  book. 

With  a  groan  to  rend  a  heart  of  stone,  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  brought  himself  suddenly  to  accept  the  offer. 
Half  suffocated  by  excitement,  June  watched  M.  Du- 
ponnet cross  to  the  desk  and  proceed  to  write  out  a 
cheque  for  four  thousand  guineas.  And  as  she  did 
so  her  heart  sank.  She  was  quite  sure  that  she  was 
looking  upon  the  picture  for  the  last  time. 

In  jumping  to  this  conclusion,  however,  she  had 
not  made  full  allowance  for  the  business  capacity  of 
Uncle  Si.  When  M.  Duponnet  had  filled  in  the  cheque 
and  handed  it  to  him,  the  Old  Crocodile  scrutinised  it 
very  carefully  indeed,  and  then  he  said:  "Thank  you, 
Mussewer  Duponny.  The  bank  closes  at  three.  But 
to-morrow  morning  I'll  take  this  round  myself  as  soon 
as  it  opens.  And  if  the  manager  says  it's  all  right, 
you  can  have  the  picture  whenever  you  like." 

"Bien!"  The  Frenchman  bowed  politely.  "Mean- 
while, take  good  care  of  the  picture.  There  are  many 
thieves  about."  M.  Duponnet  laughed.  "Mind  you 
lock  it  up  in  a  safe  place." 

"You  can  trust  Mr.  Gedge  to  do  that,  I  think,"  said 
Louis  Quinze-legs  dryly. 

"I  hope  so,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  frosty 
smile. 


162  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Soit!"  M.  Duponnet  smiled  too.  'Til  call  for  it 
myself  to-morrow  morning  at  twelve." 

"Thank  you,  Mussewer !" 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  gave  his  visitors  a  bow  as  they 
went  up  to  the  shop  door,  and  ushered  them  ceremoni- 
ously into  the  not  particularly  inviting  air  of  New 
Cross  Street. 


XXVII 

JUST  at  first  June  was  unable  to  realise  that  M. 
Duponnet  had  not  taken  the  picture  away  with  him. 
The  blood  seemed  to  drum  against  her  brain  while 
she  watched  Uncle  Si  turn  over  the  cheque  in  his  long 
talon  fingers  and  then  transfer  it  to  a  leather  case, 
which  he  returned  to  his  breast  pocket  with  a  deep  sigh. 
Afterwards  he  took  up  the  picture  from  the  table  on 
which  he  had  set  it  down  and  then  June  grasped  the 
fact  that  the  treasure  was  still  there. 

The  face  which  bent  over  it  now  was  not  that  of  a 
happy  man.  It  was  a  complex  of  emotions,  deep  and 
stern.  The  price  was  huge  for  a  thing  that  had  cost 
him  nothing,  but — and  there  it  was  that  the  shoe 
pinched! — if  it  should  prove  to  be  a  real  Van  Roon, 
he  might  be  parting  with  it  for  a  song. 

June  could  read  his  thoughts  like  an  open  book.  He 
wanted  to  eat  his  cake  and  have  it  too.  She  would 
have  been  inclined  to  pity  him  had  her  hatred  and  her 
scorn  been  less.  In  his  cunning  and  his  greed  he  was  a 
tragic  figure,  with  a  thing  of  incomparable  beauty  in 
his  hand  whose  sole  effect  was  to  give  him  the  look  of 
an  evil  bird  of  prey.  Utter  rascal  as  she  knew  him  to 
be  now,  she  shivered  to  think  how  easy  it  would  be 
for  herself  to  grow  just  like  him.  Her  very  soul  was 
fixed  upon  the  recovery  of  this  wonderful  thing  which, 
in  the  first  place,  she  had  obtained  by  a  trick.  And 
did  she  covet  it  for  its  beauty  ?  Or  was  it  for  the  reason 
163 


164  THE   VAN    ROON 

which  at  this  moment  made  Uncle  Si  a  creature  so  ill  to 
look  upon  ?  To  such  questions  there  could  only  be  one 
answer. 

For  the  time  being,  however,  these  things  were 
merged  in  the  speculation  far  more  momentous :  What 
will  the  Old  Crocodile  do  now?  She  was  feeling  so 
uncomfortable  in  her  narrow  hiding  place,  which  pre- 
vented all  movement,  and  almost  forbade  her  to  breathe, 
that  she  hoped  devoutly  the  old  wretch  would  lose  no 
time  in  putting  back  the  treasure. 

This,  alas,  was  not  to  be.  The  picture  was  still  in 
the  hand  of  Uncle  Si,  who  still  pored  over  it  like  a 
moulting  vulture,  when  a  luxurious  motor  glided  up 
to  the  shop  door.  Almost  at  once  the  shop  was  invaded 
by  two  persons,  who  in  the  sight  of  June  had  a  look  of 
notable  importance. 

The  first  of  these,  whom  June  immediately  recog- 
nised, was  the  tall,  fashionable  girl  whose  visit  had 
caused  her  such  heart-burning  the  week  before.  She 
was  now  accompanied  by  a  gentleman  who  beyond  a 
doubt  was  her  distinguished  father. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Gedge!"  It  was  twenty  past 
three  by  the  afternoon,  but  June  was  ready  to  take  a 
Bible  oath  that  Miss  Blue  Blood  said  "good  morning." 
"I've  persuaded  my  father  to  come  and  look  at  this 
amazing  vase."  And  with  her  en-tout-cas  Miss  Blue 
Blood  pointed  straight  at  the  Hoodoo. 

Feeling  herself  to  be  a  rat  caught  neatly  in  a  trap, 
June  at  once  crouched  lower.  The  Hoodoo  being  fully 
six  feet  tall  and  her  own  stoop  considerable,  she  was 
able  to  take  comfort  from  the  fact  that  just  then  no 
part  of  her  own  head  was  showing.  But  how  long  was 
she  likely  to  remain  invisible  ?  That  was  a  question  for 


THE   VAN    ROON  165 

the  gods.  And  it  was  further  complicated  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  Hoodoo's  mouth  was  open,  and  that  the 
point  of  Miss  Blue  Blood's  green  umbrella  might  easily 
find  a  way  through. 

A-shiver  with  fear  June  tried  to  subdue  her  wild 
heart,  while  Miss  Babraham,  her  father,  Sir  Arthur, 
and  S.  Gedge  Antiques  gathered  round  the  Hoodoo. 
She  hardly  dared  to  breathe.  The  least  sound  would 
betray  her.  And  in  any  case,  one  of  the  three  had 
merely  to  stand  on  an  adjacent  coffin  stool  and  peer 
over  the  top  for  the  murder  to  be  out. 

The  tragedy  which  June  so  clearly  foresaw  was  not 
permitted  to  take  place  at  once.  Plainly  the  fates  were 
inclined  to  toy  with  their  victim  for  a  while.  Miss 
Blue  Blood's  laugh — how  rich  and  deep  it  was ! — rang 
in  her  ears  and  made  them  burn  as  she  gave  the  Hoodoo 
a  prod  and  cried  out  in  her  gay  Miss-Banks-like  man- 
ner, "Papa,  I  ask  you,  did  you  ever  see  anything  quite 
like  it?" 

"By  George,  no!"  laughed  that  connoisseur. 

"It's  such  a  glorious  monster,"  said  his  enthusiastic 
daughter  standing  on  tiptoe,  "that  one  can't  even  see 
over  the  top." 

"Puts  one  in  mind,"  said  Sir  Arthur,  "of  the  Arabian 
Nights  and  the  Cave  of  the  Forty  Robbers." 

"The  long  gallery  at  Homefield  is  the  very  place  for 
it!" 

"I  wonder!"  The  connoisseur  tapped  the  Hoodoo 
with  his  walking  stick  and  turned  to  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 
"Do  you  happen  to  know  where  it  came  from?"  he 
asked. 

"From  a  Polynesian  temple  in  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
I  believe,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Si,  glibly. 


166  THE   VAN   ROON 

"What  do  you  want  for  it?"  And  Sir  Arthur  tapped 
the  Hoodoo  again. 

"I'll  take  thirty  pounds,  sir."  It  was  the  voice  of  a 
man  bringing  himself  to  part  with  a  valuable  tooth. 
"Sixty  was  the  sum  I  paid  for  it  some  years  ago. 
But  it  isn't  everybody's  fancy,  and  it  swallows  a  small 
place." 

Sir  Arthur  observed  with  pleasant  humour  that  such 
a  monstrosity  ought  to  be  taken  over  by  the  nation. 
S.  Gedge  Antiques,  with  a  humour  that  strove  to  be 
equally  pleasant,  concurred. 

At  this  point,  to  June's  mortal  terror,  Miss  Babra- 
ham  made  a  second  attempt  to  look  over  the  top. 

"Stand  on  this  coffin  stool,  Miss,"  said  S.  Gedge 
Antiques,  politely  producing  that  article  from  the  col- 
lection of  bric-a-brac  around  the  Hoodoo. 

June's  heart  stood  still.  The  game  was  up.  Sickly 
she  closed  her  eyes.  But  Providence  had  one  last  card 
to  play. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Miss  Babraham.  "But 
it  won't  bear  my  weight,  I'm  afraid.  No,  I  don't 
think  I'll  risk  it.  There's  really  nothing  to  see  inside." 

Uncle  Si  agreed  that  there  was  really  nothing  to  see 
inside ;  and  June  breathed  again. 

"Thirty  pounds  isn't  much,  papa,  for  such  a  glorious 
monstrosity."  Miss  Blue  Blood  had  evidently  set  her 
heart  on  it. 

Sir  Arthur,  however,  expressed  a  fear  that  a  thing 
of  that  size,  that  hue,  that  contour  would  kill  every 
object  in  the  Long  Gallery.  Great  argument  ensued. 
And  then  to  June's  relief,  Miss  Babraham,  her  father, 
Sir  Arthur  and  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  arguing  still,  moved 
away  from  the  Hoodoo. 


THE   VAN   ROON  167 

The  upshot  was  that  Sir  Arthur,  overborne  at  last 
by  the  force  of  his  daughter's  reasoning,  agreed  to  buy 
the  monster,  for  what  in  the  opinion  of  the  seller,  was 
a  ridiculously  inadequate  sum.  It  was  to  be  carefully 
packed  in  a  crate,  and  sent  down  to  Homefield  near 
Byfleet,  Surrey.  So  much  for  the  Hoodoo.  And  then 
the  eye  of  a  famous  connoisseur  lit  on  the  picture  that 
the  old  dealer  had  laid  on  the  gate-legged  table. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  Sir  Arthur,  fixing  his 
eyeglass. 

Uncle  Si  became  a  sphinx.  The  connoisseur  took 
the  picture  in  his  hand,  and  while  he  examined  it  with 
grave  curiosity  he  too  became  a  sphinx.  So  tense  grew 
the  silence  to  June's  ear  that  again  she  was  troubled 
by  the  loud  beating  of  her  heart. 

At  last  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  light  and 
charming  note  of  Miss  Babraham.  "Why,  surely," 
she  said,  "that  is  the  funny  old  picture  I  saw  when  I 
was  here  the  other  day." 

"We  have  cleaned  it  up  a  bit  since  then,  madam," 
said  Uncle  Si  in  a  voice  so  toneless  that  June  could 
only  marvel  at  the  perfect  self-command  of  this  arch 
dissembler. 

Sir  Arthur,  it  was  clear,  was  tremendously  interested. 
He  turned  the  picture  over  and  over,  and  used  the 
microscope  very  much  as  M.  Duponnet  had  done. 
Finally  he  said  in  a  voice  nearly  as  toneless  as  that 
of  Uncle  Si  himself.  "What  do  you  ask  for  this,  Mr. 
Gedge?" 

"Not  for  sale,  sir,"  was  the  decisive  answer. 

The  nod  of  Sir  Arthur  implied  that  it  was  the 
answer  he  expected.  "Looks  to  me  a  fine  example." 
A  true  amateur,  he  could  not  repress  a  little  sigh  of 


168  THE   VAN    ROON 

pleasure.  There  was  no  concealing  the  fact  that  he 
was  intrigued. 

"Van  Roon  at  his  best,  sir,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 

"Ye-es,"  said  the  connoisseur — in  the  tone  of  the 
connoisseur.  "One  would  be  rather  inclined  to  say  so. 
If  the  question  is  not  impertinent," — Sir  Arthur  fixed 
a  steady  eye  upon  the  face  of  deep  cunning  which  con- 
fronted his — "may  I  ask  where  it  came  from?" 

The  old  man  was  prepared  for  the  question.  His 
answer  was  pat.  "I  can't  tell  you  that,  sir,"  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  mystery. 

Again  Sir  Arthur  nodded.  That,  too,  was  the  an- 
swer he  had  expected.  In  the  pause  which  followed  Sir 
Arthur  returned  to  a  loving  re-examination  of  the  pic- 
lure;  and  then  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques  in  a  voice 
gravely  and  quietly  confidential :  "Strictly  between  our- 
selves, sir,  I  may  say  that  I  have  just  turned  down  an 
offer  of  five  thousand  guineas." 

"Oh— indeed!" 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  Old  Crocodile  to  gaze 
into  the  impassive  countenance  of  the  famous  con- 
noisseur. 


XXVIII 

**  T^MVE  thousand  guineas,  sir,  I  have  just  refused," 
J7  said  Uncle  Si,  "for  this  little  thing,  as  sure  as 
God's  in  the  sky." 

So  shocked  was  June  by  this  adding  of  blasphemy  to 
his  other  crimes,  that  she  shivered  audibly.  Miss 
Babraham  cocked  up  her  head  at  the  sound.  "You've 
a  cat  somewhere,  haven't  you?"  she  said,  looking 
around  the  shop. 

"No,  madam,"  said  Uncle  Si  shortly.  So  like  a 
woman  to  butt  in  at  such  a  moment  with  such  a  remark ! 

"In  my  humble  opinion,"  said  Sir  Arthur,  gazing 
solemnly  at  the  picture,  "this  is  a  finer  example  of  Van 
Roon  than  the  one — and  the  only  one! — we  have  in 
the  National  Gallery." 

"There,  sir,  I  am  with  you,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
with  unction. 

"One  would  like  to  know  its  history." 

The  old  man  became  a  sphinx  once  more.  "I  can 
only  tell  you,  sir,  I  didn't  buy  it  as  a  Van  Roon,"  he 
said  cautiously. 

"Really !"  Sir  Arthur  grew  more  intrigued  than  ever. 
"Well,  Mr.  Gedge,  whatever  you  bought  it  as,  I  think 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  you've  made  a  lucky  pur- 
chase." 

"I  am  wondering,  sir,"  said  S.  Gedge  Antiques, 
"whether  the  National  Gallery  would  care  to  acquire 
169 


170  THE   VAN    ROON 

this  fine  example?"  It  was  a  sudden  inspiration,  but 
those  measured  tones  and  calculating  eyes  gave  no  in- 
dication of  the  fact. 

Sir  Arthur  Babraham,  in  his  own  capacity  of  a 
National  Gallery  trustee,  began  sensibly  to  moderate 
his  transports.  "More  unlikely  things,  Mr.  Gedge," 
at  last  he  brought  himself  reluctantly  to  say.  "Van 
Roons  are  very  scarce,  and  if  this  one  is  all  that  he 
appears  to  be  at  a  first  glance,  it  will  be  a  pity  to  let 
him  leave  the  country." 

Piously,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  thought  so,  too. 

Sir  Arthur  turned  to  the  picture  again.  Like  M. 
Duponnet  he  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  keeping  his 
expert  gaze  off  that  fascinating  canvas. 

"Reminds  one,"  he  said,  "of  that  choice  thing  that 
was  stolen  from  the  Louvre  about  twenty-five  years 
ago.  The  size  is  similar  and,  as  I  remember  it,  the 
whole  composition  is  in  some  ways  identical." 

The  old  man  was  startled,  but  not  visibly.  "Was 
there  one  stolen  from  the  Loov,  sir?"  he  said,  with  a 
polite  air  of  asking  for  information. 

"Why,  yes!  Don't  you  remember?  There  was  a 
great  stir  at  the  time.  It  was  cut  out  of  its  frame. 
The  French  Government  offered  a  big  reward,  but  the 
work  has  never  been  recovered." 

"Indeed,  sir."  All  at  once  the  Old  Crocodile  began 
to  gambol  a  little.  "Let's  hope  this  ain't  the  boy." 
He  gave  a  mild  snigger.  But  as  his  next  words  proved 
there  was  more  in  that  snigger  than  met  the  ear.  "In 
the  event  of  this  little  jool  turning  out  to  be  stolen  prop- 
erty, what,  sir,  do  you  suppose  would  be  the  position  of 
the  present  owner  ?" 

"Difficult  to  say,  Mr.  Gedge." 


THE    VAN    ROON  171 

"He'd  receive  compensation,  wouldn't  he?" 

"Substantial  compensation  one  would  think — if  he 
was  able  to  prove  his  title." 

If  he  was  able  to  prove  his  title !  Those  blunt  little 
words  had  a  sinister  sound  for  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  but 
he  did  not  turn  a  hair.  "No  difficulty  about  that,  sir," 
he  said,  robustly. 

"Quite !"  Evidently  Sir  Arthur  had  no  doubt  upon 
the  point.  "But  as  the  question  might  arise  it  may  be 
well  to  have  it  settled  before  disposing  of  the  picture." 

S.  Gedge  agreed. 

"And  in  any  case,  before  parting  with  it,"  said  Sir 
Arthur,  "it  will  be  wise,  I  think,  to  take  advice." 

Again  S.  Gedge  agreed.  "You  mean,  sir,  it  may  be 
very  valuable  indeed?" 

"Yes,  I  quite  think  it  may  be.  At  a  cursory  glance 
it  has  the  look  of  a  fine  example  of  a  great  master.  I 
remember  at  the  time  that  'L'Automne'  disappeared 
from  the  Louvre,  it  was  said  to  be  worth  at  least  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  since  then  Van 
Roons  have  more  than  doubled  in  price. 

"In  that  case,  sir" — there  was  a  tremor  of  real  emo- 
tion in  the  voice  of  the  old  dealer — "this  be-yew-ti-ful 
thing  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  country." 

"Unfortunately  the  French  authorities  may  compel 
it  to  do  so."  And  the  connoisseur  sighed  as  he  fingered 
the  canvas  lovingly. 

Affirmed  S.  Gedge  Antiques:  "I  don't  believe,  sir, 
for  a  moment  that  it  is  'L'Automne.'  " 

"One  wouldn't  like  to  say  it  is,"  said  the  cautious 
Sir  Arthur.  "And  one  wouldn't  like  to  say  it  isn't." 

"It'll  be  up  to  the  Loov  to  prove  it,  anyhow." 

"Quite.     In  the  meantime,  before  you  let  it  go,  I 


172  THE   VAN    ROON 

hope  you'll  give  me  an  opportunity  of  looking  at  it 
again." 

This  modest  request  caused  the  old  man  to  rub  his 
nose.  He  was  not  in  a  position,  he  said  mysteriously,  to 
give  a  promise,  but  certainly  he  would  do  his  best  to 
meet  the  wishes  of  Sir  Arthur. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Gedge.  If  this  picture  is  not 
claimed  by  other  people,  and  of  course  one  doesn't  for 
a  moment  suggest  that  it  will  be,  steps  might  be  taken 
to  keep  it  here.  We  are  so  poor  in  Van  Roons — there 
is  only  one,  I  believe — to  our  shame ! — in  this  country 
at  the  present  time — that  we  can't  afford  to  let  a  thing 
like  this  slip  through  our  fingers.  Therefore,  as  I 
say,  before  you  decide  to  sell  I  hope  you'll  take  advice." 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  gravely  thanked  Sir  Arthur  Ba- 
braham.  He  would  keep  those  wise  words  in  mind. 
And  in  the  meantime  he  would  pack  That  in  a  crate — 
he  pointed  a  finger  straight  at  June's  eyes — and  send 
it  to  Homefield. 

" near  Byfleet,  Surrey,  I  think  you  said,  sir?" 


XXIX 

THE  distinguished  visitors  were  bowed  into  the 
street.  And  then  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  with  the 
face  of  a  man  whose  soul  is  in  torment,  returned  to 
contemplation  of  the  picture,  and  also  of  M.  Duponnet's 
cheque  which  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  book.  It  was 
clear  that  his  mind  was  the  prey  of  a  deep  problem. 
The  bird  in  the  hand  was  well  enough  so  far  as  it  went, 
but  the  bird  in  the  bush  was  horribly  tempting. 

At  last  with  a  heavy  sigh  the  old  man  returned  the 
cheque  to  his  pocket,  and  then  cautiously  lifting  up  the 
loose  board,  put  back  the  picture  whence  it  came  and 
drew  the  oak  chest  over  the  spot.  He  then  shambled 
off  to  the  room  next  door,  which  was  full  of  odds  and 
ends  mingled  with  a  powerful  smell  of  oil  and  varnish. 

June  at  once  made  an  attempt  to  get  out  of  prison. 
But  she  now  found  her  position  to  be  as  she  had  already 
surmised.  To  enter  without  help  had  been  no  mean 
feat,  to  escape  in  the  same  fashion  was  impossible. 
Wedged  so  tightly  inside  the  Hoodoo,  there  was  neither 
play  nor  purchase  for  her  hands;  and  frantic  as  her 
efforts  were,  they  were  yet  subordinated  to  the  knowl- 
edge that  it  would  be  quite  easy  for  the  thing  to  topple 
over.  Should  that  happen  the  consequence  would  cer- 
tainly be  alarming  and  possibly  ghastly. 

Frantically  wriggling  in  the  jaws  of  the  Hoodoo,  it 
did  not  matter  what  she  did,  she  was  firmly  held.  And 
the  fear  of  Uncle  Si,  who  was  pottering  about  quite 
173 


174  THE   VAN   ROON 

close  at  hand,  while  imposing  silence  upon  her,  intensi- 
fied the  growing  desperation  of  her  case.  She  was  a 
mouse  in  a  trap. 

Too  soon  did  she  learn  that  only  one  course  was 
open  to  her.  She  must  wait  for  William's  return.  Irk- 
some and  humiliating  as  the  position  was,  it  was  clear 
that  she  c<5uld  do  nothing  without  help. 

Would  William  never  come  ?  The  minutes  ticked  on 
and  her  durance  grew  exceedingly  vile.  She  became 
conscious  of  pains  in  her  shoulders  and  feet,  she  felt 
as  if  she  could  hardly  draw  breath,  her  head  throbbing 
with  excitement  seemed  as  if  it  must  burst.  It  was  a 
horrible  fix  to  be  in. 

Suffering  acutely  now,  she  yielded  as  well  as  she 
could  to  the  inevitable.  There  was  simply  nothing  to 
be  done.  She  must  wait.  It  was  imprisonment  in  a 
most  unpleasant  form  and  she  was  frightened  by  the 
knowledge  that  it  might  continue  many  hours.  Even 
when  William  did  return,  and  there  was  no  saying 
when  he  would  do  so,  he  was  quite  as  likely  to  enter 
by  the  back  door  as  by  the  shop.  So  terrible  was  the 
thought  that  June  felt  ready  to  faint  at  the  bare  idea. 

This  was  a  matter,  however,  in  which  fate  was  not 
so  relentless  after  all.  June  was  doing  her  best  to  bear 
up  in  the  face  of  this  new  and  paralysing  fear  when 
the  shop  door  opened  and  lo !  William  came  in. 

Great  was  her  joy,  and  yet  it  had  to  be  tempered  by 
considerations  of  prudence.  She  contrived  to  raise 
her  lips  to  the  mouth  of  the  Hoodoo,  and  to  breathe 
his  name  in  a  tragic  whisper. 

As  he  heard  her  and  turned,  she  urged  in  the  same 
odd  fashion:  "For  Heaven's  sake — not  a  sound!" 

"Why — Miss  June!"  he  gasped    "Where  are  you?" 


THE   VAN    ROON  175 

She  checked  him  with  wild  whisperings  that  yet 
served  to  draw  him  to  her  prison. 

Hie  was  dumbfounded,  quite  as  much  as  by  her 
fiercely  tragic  voice  as  by  the  amazing  predicament  in 
which  he  found  her. 

"Help  me  out!"  she  commanded  him.  "And  don't 
make  the  least  sound.  Uncle  Si  is  next  door,  and  if 
he  finds  me  here,  something  terrible  will  happen." 

Such  force  and  such  anxiety  had  one  at  least  of  the 
results  so  much  to  be  desired.  They  forbade  the  asking 
of  futile  questions.  Every  moment  was  precious  if  she 
was  to  make  good  her  escape. 

William  in  this  crisis  proved  himself  a  right  good 
fellow.  His  sense  of  the  ludicrous  was  keen,  but  he 
stifled  it.  Moreover,  a  legitimate  curiosity  had  been 
fully  aroused,  but  he  stifled  that  also  as  he  proceeded 
to  carry  out  these  imperious  orders.  But  even  with 
such  ready  and  stalwart  help,  June  was  to  learn  again 
that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  escape  from  the  Hoodoo. 

Without  venturing  to  speak  again,  William  mounted 
the  gate-legged  table  and  offered  both  hands  to  the 
prisoner.  But  the  trouble  was  that  she  was  so  tightly 
pinned  that  she  could  not  raise  hers  to  receive  them. 
And  it  was  soon  fatally  clear  that  so  long  as  the  Hoo- 
doo kept  the  perpendicular  it  would  be  impossible  for 
any  external  agent  to  secure  a  hold  upon  the  body 
wedged  within  its  jaws. 

After  several  attempts  at  dislodgement  had  miser- 
ably failed,  June  gasped  in  a  kind  of  anguish:  "Do 
you  think  you  can  tip  this  thing  over — very  gently — 
without  making  a  sound?" 

This  was  trying  William  highly  indeed,  but  it  seemed 
the  only  thing  to  be  done.  Happily  he  was  tall  and 


176  THE  VAN   ROON 

strong;  much  was  said,  all  the  same,  for  his  power  of 
muscle  and  the  infinite  tact  with  which  it  was  applied 
that  he  was  able  to  tilt  the  Hoodoo  on  to  its  end. 
Keeping  the  vase  firmly  under  control,  he  then  managed 
to  regulate  its  descent  to  the  shop  floor  so  skilfully  as 
to  avoid  a  crash. 

Such  a  feat  was  really  a  triumph  of  applied  dynamics. 
June,  however,  was  not  in  a  position  to  render  it  all 
the  homage  it  deserved,  even  if  she  was  deeply  grateful 
for  the  address  that  William  brought  to  bear  upon  his 
task.  Once  the  Hoodoo  had  been  laid  full  length  on 
the  shop  floor  she  was  able  to  wriggle  her  body  and  her 
shoulders  with  what  violence  she  pleased,  without  the 
fear  of  disaster.  A  series  of  convulsive  twists  and 
writhings  and  she  was  free ! 

As  soon  as  she  knew  that  she  was  no  longer  pinned 
by  the  jaws  of  the  monster,  the  action  of  a  strong  mind 
was  needed  to  ward  off  a  threat  of  hysteria.  But  she 
controlled  herself  sufficiently  to  help  William  restore 
the  Hoodoo  to  the  perpendicular ;  and  then  she  said  in 
a  whisper  of  extreme  urgency  which  was  barely  able 
to  mask  the  sob  of  nerves  overstrung:  "Not  one  word 
now.  But  go  straight  into  the  kitchen — just  as  if 
you  hadn't  seen  me.  And  remember  whatever  hap- 
pens"— the  whisper  grew  fiercer,  the  sob  more  immi- 
nent— "if  Uncle  Si  asks  the  question  you  haven't  seen 
me.  I'm  supposed  to  be  looking  for  a  job.  You 
understand  ?" 

To  say  that  William  did  understand  would  have  been 
to  pay  him  a  most  fulsome  compliment ;  yet  the  stout 
fellow  behaved  as  if  the  whole  of  this  amazing  matter 
was  as  clear  as  daylight.  Such  was  June's  fixity  of  will, 
the  sheer  force  of  her  personality,  that  he  left  the  shop 


THE   VAN    ROON  177 

at  once  like  a  man  hypnotised.  Excited  questions 
trembled  upon  his  lips,  but  in  the  face  of  this  impe- 
riousness  he  did  not  venture  to  give  them  play. 

He  made  one  attempt — one  half-hearted  attempt. 

"But  Miss  June !" 

The  only  answer  of  Miss  June  was  to  cram  one  hand 
over  his  mouth,  and  with  the  other  to  propel  him 
towards  the  door  which  led  to  the  back  premises. 


XXX 

AS  soon  as  William  had  passed  out  of  the  shop, 
June  stood  a  moment  to  gather  nerve  and  energy 
for  the  task  before  her.  Feeling  considerably  tossed, 
above  all  she  was  devoured  by  a  horrible  form  of  ex- 
citement whose  effect  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  a 
bad  dream.  But  this  was  not  a  time  for  dreams.  The 
situation  was  full  of  peril ;  not  a  moment  must  be  lost. 

The  picture  was  her  immediate  concern.  She  set 
herself  at  once  to  the  business  of  moving  the  oak  chest 
aside.  This  presented  no  difficulty,  for  there  was 
nothing  in  it;  but  the  loose  board  beneath  it  did. 
Fingers  unhelped  could  not  prise  it  up ;  they  must  have 
a  chisel.  She  knew  that  such  an  implement  was  to  be 
found  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  desk,  but  she  had 
stealthily  to  open  three  or  four  before  she  came  upon 
the  right  one. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  she  could  hear  the  voices 
of  William  and  Uncle  Si  in  the  room  next  door.  It 
seemed  that  no  matter  what  her  caution  or  her  haste, 
she  would  almost  certainly  be  interrupted  before  she 
was  through  with  her  task.  But  luck  was  with  her. 
She  was  able  to  lift  the  board,  take  forth  the  picture, 
replace  the  chest  and  return  the  chisel  to  its  drawer 
without  the  voices  coming  any  nearer. 

Picture  in  hand,  she  tiptoed  out  of  the  shop  as  far 
as  the  stairs.  Through  the  open  door  of  the  inner  room 
178 


THE   VAN    ROON  179 

the  back  of  Uncle  Si  was  visible  as  she  crept  by.  It 
was  taking  a  grave  risk  to  attempt  the  stairs  at  such  a 
moment,  but  she  was  wrought  up  to  a  point  when  to  go 
back  and  wait  was  impossible.  She  must  continue  to 
chance  her  luck. 

Up  the  stairs  she  crept,  expecting  at  every  second 
one  to  hear  a  harsh  voice  recall  her.  To  her  unspeak- 
able relief,  however,  she  was  able  to  gain  sanctuary  in 
her  own  room  without  hindrance.  She  bolted  the  door 
against  the  enemy,  although  so  far  as  she  was  aware, 
he  was  still  in  the  room  below  in  total  ignorance  of 
what  had  happened. 

Shivering  as  if  in  the  throes  of  fever,  she  sat  on  the 
edge  of  her  narrow  bed.  The  treasure  was  hers  still. 
She  held  it  to  her  bosom  as  a  mother  holds  a  child ;  yet 
the  simple  act  gave  rise  at  once  to  the  problem  of  prob- 
lems: What  must  be  done  with  the  thing  now?  There 
could  be  no  security  for  it  under  that  roof.  And  not 
to  the  picture  alone  did  this  apply,  but  also  to  herself. 
Anything  might  happen  as  soon  as  the  old  man  found 
out  that  the  Van  Roon  was  not,  after  all,  to  be  his. 
Meanwhile,  the  future  hardly  bore  thinking  about;  it 
was  like  a  precipice  beyond  whose  edge  she  dare  not 
look. 

One  act,  however,  did  not  admit  of  a  moment's 
delay:  there  and  then  the  treasure  must  be  smuggled 
out  of  the  house  and  put  in  a  place  of  safety.  Rowelled 
by  this  thought,  June  rose  from  the  bed,  took  a  piece 
of  brown  paper  and  some  string  from  her  box,  and 
proceeded  to  transform  the  picture  into  a  neat  parcel. 
She  then  slipped  off  her  dress,  which  was  considerably 
the  worse  for  contact  with  the  dusty  interior  of  the 
Hoodoo,  performed  a  hasty  toilette,  put  on  her  walk- 


180  THE   VAN    ROON 

ing-out  coat  and  skirt  and  changed  her  shoes.  Finally, 
she  put  on  the  better  of  the  only  two  hats  she  possessed, 
slipped  her  mother's  battered  old  leather  purse  into  her 
coat  pocket,  and  then,  umbrella  in  one  hand,  parcel  in 
the  other,  she  turned  to  the  hazard  of  stealing  down- 
stairs and  making  good  her  escape. 

In  the  middle  of  the  twisty  stairs,  just  before  their 
sharpest  bend  would  bring  her  into  the  view  of  persons 
below,  she  stopped  to  listen.  The  voices  had  ceased ; 
she  could  not  hear  a  sound.  Two  ways  lay  before  her 
of  reaching  the  street:  one  via  the  parlour  to  the 
kitchen  and  out  along  the  side  entry,  the  other  through 
the  front  door  of  the  shop.  Either  route  might  be 
commanded  at  the  moment  by  the  enemy.  With  noth- 
ing to  guide  her,  June  felt  that  the  only  safe  course 
just  then  was  to  stay  where  she  was.  In  the  strategic 
position  she  had  taken  up  on  the  stairs  she  could  not  be 
seen  from  below,  yet  a  quick  ear  might  hope  to  gain  a 
clue  to  what  was  going  on. 

She  had  not  to  wait  long.  From  the  inner  room, 
whose  door  opposite  the  foot  of  the  stairs  was  still  half 
open,  although  its  occupant  was  no  more  seen,  there 
suddenly  came  the  strident  tones  of  Uncle  Si.  They 
were  directed  unmistakably  kitchenward.  "Boy,  you'd 
better  get  the  tea  ready.  Seemin'ly  that  gell  ain't 
home." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  came  a  prompt  and  cheerful  re- 
sponse from  the  back  premises. 

June  decided  at  once  that  the  signs  were  favourable. 
Now  was  her  chance ;  the  way  through  the  front  shop 
was  evidently  clear.  Deftly  as  a  cat  she  came  down 
the  remaining  stairs  and  stole  past  the  half-open  door 
of  what  was  known  as  "the  lumber  room,"  where,  how- 


THE   VAN   ROON  181 

ever,  old  chairs  were  sometimes  fitted  with  new  legs 
and  old  chests  with  new  panels. 

Uncle  Si  was  undoubtedly  there.  June  could  hear 
him  moving  about  as  she  passed  the  door ;  indeed  she 
was  hardly  clear  of  it  when  she  received  a  most  un- 
welcome reminder  of  this  fact.  Either  he  chanced  to 
turn  round  as  she  crept  by,  or  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  passing  in  one  of  the  numerous  mirrors  that  sur- 
rounded him.  For  just  as  she  reached  the  shop 
threshold  she  heard  his  irascible  bark:  "That  you, 
niece?" 

The  road  clear  ahead,  June  did  not  pause  to  weigh 
consequences.  She  simply  bolted.  Even  if  the  old  man 
was  not  likely  to  guess  what  her  neat  parcel  contained, 
it  would  surely  be  the  height  of  folly  to  give  him  the 
chance. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  quite  so  thankful  as 
when  she  found  herself  in  the  street  with  the  treasure 
safely  under  her  arm. 


XXXI 

JUNE  went  swiftly  down  New  Cross  Street  to  the 
Strand.  Until  she  reached  that  garish  sea  of 
traffic  she  dare  not  look  back  lest  hot  on  her  heels 
should  be  Uncle  Si.  Such  a  discovery  was  not  at  all 
likely  she  well  knew ;  the  feeling  was  therefore  illogical, 
yet  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  it  until  she  was  merged 
in  the  ever-flowing  tide. 

Taking  refuge  at  last  in  a  jeweller's  doorway  from 
the  maelstrom  of  passers  by,  June  had  now  another 
problem  to  face.  The  Van  Roon  must  find  a  home. 
But  the  question  of  questions  was — where? 

Apart  from  William  and  Uncle  Si,  and  her  chance 
acquaintance,  Mr.  Keller,  she  did  not  know  a  soul  in 
London.  Mr.  Keller,  however,  sprang  at  once  to  her 
mind.  Yet  more  than  one  reservation  promptly  arose 
in  regard  to  him.  She  knew  really  nothing  about  him 
beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  a  man  of  obviously  good 
address,  belonging  to  a  class  superior  to  her  own.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  of  a  certain  breeding  and  edu- 
cation, but  whether  it  would  be  wise  to  trust  a  compara- 
tive stranger  in  such  a  matter  seemed  exceedingly 
doubtful  to  a  girl  of  June's  horse  sense.  Still  there 
was  no  one  else  to  whom  she  could  turn.  And  recalling 
the  circumstances  of  their  first  meeting,  if  one  could 
ignore  the  means  by  which  it  had  come  about,  there  was 
something  oddly  compelling,  something  oddly  attrac- 
tive, about  this  Mr.  Keller. 
182 


THE   VAN   ROON  183 

In  the  total  absence  of  other  alternatives,  June  found 
her  mind  drawn  so  far  in  the  direction  of  this  man 
of  mystery  that  at  last  she  took  from  her  purse  a  slip 
of  paper  on  which  he  had  written  his  name  and  address: 
"Adolph  Keller,  No.  4,  Haliburton  Studios,  Manning 
Square,  Soho." 

Could  she  trust  him  with  the  care  of  a  Van  Roon? 
Now  that  she  had  been  a  witness  of  its  terrible  effect 
on  Uncle  Si,  she  was  forced  to  ask  whether  it  would 
be  right  to  trust  any  man  with  such  a  talisman.  Luckily, 
the  world  was  not  peopled  exclusively  with  Uncle  Sis. 
She  would  have  to  trust  somebody  with  her  treasure, 
that  was  certain ;  and,  after  all,  there  was  no  reason  to 
suspect  that  Mr.  Keller  was  not  an  honest  man. 

She  was  still  in  the  jeweller's  doorway,  wrestling 
with  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  tough  matter,  when  a 
passing  bus  displaying  the  name  Victoria  Station 
caught  her  eye.  In  a  flash  came  the  solution  of  the 
problem. 

Again  she  entered  the  sea  of  traffic,  to  be  borne  slow- 
ly along  by  the  slow  tide  as  far  as  Charing  Cross.  Here 
she  waited  for  another  bus  to  Victoria.  The  solving  of 
the  riddle  was  absurdly  simple  after  all.  What  place 
for  her  treasure  could  be  safer,  more  accessible  than  a 
railway  station  cloak  room? 

She  boarded  Bus  23.  But  hardly  had  it  turned  the 
corner  into  Whitehall  when  a  thin  flicker  of  elation  was 
dashed  by  the  salutary  thought  that  her  brain  was  giv- 
ing out.  The  cloak  room  at  Charing  Cross,  from  the 
precincts  of  whose  station  she  had  just  driven  away, 
was  equally  adapted  to  her  need.  Along  the  entire 
length  of  Whitehall  and  Victoria  Street  she  was 
haunted  by  the  idea  that  she  was  losing  her  wits.  A 


184  THE   VAN    ROON 

prolonged  scrutiny  of  her  pale  but  now  collected  self 
in  a  confectioner's  window  on  the  threshold  of  the 
London  and  Brighton  terminus  was  called  for  to  re- 
assure her.  And  even  then,  for  a  girl  so  shrewd  and 
so  practical,  there  remained  the  scar  of  a  distressing 
mental  lapse. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  deposit  the  parcel  in  the  cloak 
room  on  the  main  line  down  platform.  But  in  the  act 
of  doing  so,  occurred  a  slight  incident  which  was  des- 
tined to  have  a  bearing  on  certain  events  to  follow. 
When  a  ticket  was  handed  to  her,  she  could  only  meet 
the  charge  of  three  pence  with  a  ten  shilling  note. 

"Nothing  smaller,  Miss?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"I'm  afraid  I  -haven't,"  said  June,  searching  her 
purse,  and  then  carefully  placing  the  ticket  in  its  middle 
compartment. 

"You'll  have  to  wait  while  I  get  change  then." 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,"  June  murmured,  as  the 
clerk  went  out  through  a  door  into  an  inner  office.  Ever 
observant  and  alert,  she  noticed  that  the  clerk  was  a 
tallish  young  man,  whose  freely  curling  fair  hair  put 
her  in  mind  of  William,  and  that  he  wore  a  new  suit  of 
green  corduroy. 

The  likeness  to  William  gave  bouquet  to  her  polite- 
ness, when  the  young  man  returned  with  the  change. 
"Sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble,"  she  said  again. 

"No  trouble,  miss."  And  Green  Corduroy  handed 
the  change  across  the  cloak  room  counter  with  a  frank 
smile  that  was  not  unworthy  of  William  himself. 


XXXII 

THE  treasure  in  a  safe  place,  June  had  to  consider 
what  to  do  next.  One  fact  stood  out  clear  in 
her  mind.  She  must  leave  at  once  the  sheltering  roof 
of  S.  Gedge  Antiques.  There  was  no  saying  what 
would  happen  when  the  Old  Crocodile  discovered  that 
the  Van  Roon  was  missing. 

The  sooner  she  collected  her  box  and  her  gear,  and 
found  another  lodging  the  better.  Her  best  plan  would 
be  to  go  back  to  New  Cross  Street  and  get  them  now. 
Uncle  Si  was  hardly  likely  as  yet  to  have  made  the 
discovery.  It  would  be  wise,  therefore,  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  lull,  for  at  the  most  it  was  only  a  matter 
of  a  few  hours  before  the  truth  was  known.  And  when 
known  it  was,  Number  Forty-six  New  Cross  Street 
was  the  very  last  place  in  London  in  which  she  would 
choose  to  be. 

There  was  a  chance,  of  course,  that  "the  murder" 
was  out  already.  But  she  would  have  to  take  the  risk 
of  that.  All  that  she  had  in  the  world  beyond  the  six 
paper  pounds,  nine  shillings  and  ninepence  in  her  purse, 
was  in  the  box  in  the  garret.  Her  entire  resources  were 
about  seventeen  pounds  in  money,  a  scanty  wardrobe, 
and  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  jewellery  of  little  value,  but 
if  she  could  get  hold  of  these  they  might  suffice  to  tide 
her  over  a  sorely  anxious  time. 

In  the  present  state  of  her  nerves,  courage  was 
185 


186  THE   VAN   ROON 

needed  to  return  to  New  Cross  Street.  But  it  had  to 
be.  And  it  was  now  or  never.  If  her  box  was  to  be 
got  away,  she  must  go  boldly  back  at  once  and  claim 
it.  How  this  was  to  be  done  without  arousing  suspicion 
she  did  not  quite  know,  but  the  most  hopeful  method 
was  to  announce  that  she  had  been  able  to  find  a  job, 
and  also  good  lodgings,  and  that  she  did  not  care  to 
lay  the  burden  of  her  presence  upon  Uncle  Si  one 
hour  longer  than  was  necessary. 

She  had  been  brought  up  with  a  strict  regard  for  the 
truth,  but  fate  was  driving  her  so  hard  that  she  could 
not  afford  to  have  scruples.  Hanging  by  a  strap  on  the 
Underground  to  Charing  Cross,  which  seemed  the 
quickest  route,  and  time  was  the  essence  of  the  matter, 
she  rehearsed  the  part  she  had  now  to  play.  Certainly 
the  playing  itself  would  not  lack  gusto.  Nothing  life 
so  far  had  given  her  would  yield  quite  so  much  pleasure 
as  saying  good-bye  to  the  Old  Crocodile,  and  ironically 
thanking  him  for  all  his  kindness.  At  the  same  time, 
the  job  and  lodgings  story  must  be  pitched  in  just  the 
right  key,  or  his  suspicions  would  be  aroused,  and  then 
something  horribly  unpleasant  might  occur. 

By  the  time  June  had  turned  out  of  the  Strand  into 
New  Cross  Street,  a  heavy  autumnal  dusk  had  fallen 
upon  that  bleak  thoroughfare.  Somehow  the  dark  pall 
struck  at  her  heart.  In  a  sense  it  was  symbolical  of  the 
business  upon  which  she  was  engaged.  She  felt  like  a 
thief  whose  instinct  welcomes  darkness,  and  whose  con- 
science fears  it. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  needed  such  courage  as  to 
turn  up  that  gloomy  and  dismal  street  and  accost  the 
forbidding  threshold  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques.  The  shop 
was  still  open,  for  it  was  hardly  more  than  six  o'clock, 


THE   VAN    ROON  187 

and  two  gas  jets  lit  the  interior  in  a  way  that  added  to 
its  dolour. 

She  stood  a  moment  with  the  knob  of  the  shop  door 
in  her  hand.  All  the  nerve  she  could  muster  was  wanted 
to  venture  within.  But  she  did  go  in,  and  she  felt  a 
keen  relief  when  a  hasty  glance  told  her  that  Uncle 
Si  was  not  there. 


XXXIII 

JUNE  had  a  further  moment  of  indecision  while  she 
thought  out  what  her  line  must  be.  She  resolved  to 
go  direct  to  her  room  and  pack  her  box.  Afterwards 
she  must  find  William  and  enlist  his  help  in  bringing 
it  downstairs,  and  then  she  would  get  a  taxi  and  drive 
off  with  her  things  before  Uncle  Si  discovered  his 
loss.  Otherwise  .  .  .! 

Her  mind  had  not  time  to  shape  the  grisly  alternative, 
before  the  immediate  course  of  events  shaped  it  for 
her.  Suddenly  she  was  aware  of  a  presence  lurking  in 
the  dark  shadows  of  the  shop  interior.  It  was  couchant, 
vengeful,  hostile.  Almost  before  June  could  guess 
what  was  happening  it  had  sprung  upon  her. 

With  astounding  force  her  right  wrist  was  grasped 
and  twisted  behind  her  back.  She  gave  a  little  yelp  of 
pain.  A  second  yelp  followed,  as  she  struggled  to  free 
herself,  only  to  find  that  she  was  locked  in  a  vice,  and 
that  to  fight  against  it  would  be  agony. 

"Now,  where  is  it?"  The  low  voice  hissing  in  her 
ear  was  surely  that  of  a  maniac.  "Where's  the  pic- 
ture?" The  grip  upon  her  had  the  strength  of  ten. 
"Where  is  it — eh?  As  the  question  was  put,  her  cap- 
tor shook  her  fiercely.  "Tell  me."  He  shook  her  again. 
"Oh,  you  won't — won't  you?"  And  then  she  realized 
that  there  was  something  in  his  hand. 

She  called  wildly  for  William,  but  there  was  no 
response. 

"No  use  lifting  up  your  voice.    The  boy's  out." 

She  fought  to  get  free,  but  with  a  wrist  still  locked, 
188 


THE   VAN    ROON  189 

she  was  at  his  mercy.  "Now  then,  where's  that  pic- 
ture? Won't  tell  me — eh?"  There  was  madness  in 
that  depth  of  rage. 

Quite  suddenly  there  came  a  sickening  crash  upon 
her  shoulders.  She  let  out  with  her  heels  and  found 
the  shin  of  the  enemy,  she  fought  and  screamed,  yet 
pinned  like  that,  she  felt  her  wrist  must  break  and  her 
arm  be  wrenched  from  its  socket. 

"Where  is  it — you  thief  ?"  The  stick  crashed  again, 
this  time  in  a  series  of  horrible  blows.  So  severe  was 
the  pain  that  it  seemed  to  drive  through  her  whole 
being.  She  began  to  fear  that  he  meant  to  kill  her ;  and 
as  the  stick  continued  to  descend  she  felt  sure  that  he 
would. 

She  was  a  strong,  determined  girl,  but  her  captor 
had  her  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage.  His  strength,  be- 
sides, was  that  of  one  possessed.  Her  cries  and  strug- 
gles merely  added  to  his  savagery. 

"Tell  me  where  it  is  or  I'll  knock  the  life  out  of  you." 

Utterly  desperate,  she  contrived  at  last  to  break 
away ;  and  though  with  the  force  of  a  maniac  he  tried 
to  prevent  her  escape,  somehow  she  managed  to  get 
into  the  street.  He  followed  her  as  far  as  the  shop- 
door,  brandishing  the  stick,  hurling  imprecations  upon 
her,  and  threatening  what  he  would  do  if  she  didn't 
bring  the  picture  back  at  once. 

Bruised  and  gasping,  June  reeled  into  the  darkness. 
Feeling  more  dead  than  alive,  she  lingered  nearby  after 
the  old  man  had  gone  in,  trying  to  pull  her  battered  self 
together.  She  badly  wanted  her  box,  yet  the  only  hope 
of  getting  it  now  was  by  means  of  the  police.  As 
things  were,  however,  it  would  not  be  wise  to  ask  their 
help.  The  old  wretch  was  so  clever  he  might  be  able 


190  THE   VAN   ROON 

to  make  her  out  a  thief ;  besides,  for  the  time  being  she 
had  had  more  than  enough  of  this  horrible  affair. 

Cruelly  hurt  she  moved  at  last  with  slow  pain 
towards  the  Strand.  By  now  she  had  decided  that 
her  most  imperative  need  was  a  night's  lodging.  Before 
starting  to  look  for  one,  however,  the  enticing  doors  of 
a  teashop  gave  her  a  renewed  sense  of  weakness. 
Gratefully  she  went  in  and  sat  down,  ordering  a  pot 
of  tea  and  a  little  bread  and  butter  which  she  felt  too 
ill  to  eat. 

Nearly  half  an  hour  she  sat  in  the  company  of  her 
thoughts.  Hard,  unhappy  thoughts  they  were.  With- 
out one  friend  to  whom  in  this  crisis  she  could  turn, 
the  world  which  confronted  her  now  was  an  abyss. 
The  feeling  of  loneliness  was  desolating,  yet,  after 
all,  far  less  so  than  it  would  have  been  were  she  not 
fortified  by  the  memory  of  a  certain  slip  of  paper  in 
her  purse. 

A  slow  return  of  fighting  power  revived  a  spark  of 
natural  resolution  within  her.  After  all,  a  potent 
weapon  was  in  her  hands.  She  must  think  out  a  care- 
ful plan  of  turning  it  to  full  account.  And  at  the 
worst  she  was  now  beyond  the  reach  of  Uncle  Si. 
Even  if  he  kept  her  box  and  all  its  contents,  weighed 
in  the  scale  of  the  picture's  fabulous  worth,  her  modest 
possessions  amounted  to  very  little. 

Stimulated  by  this  conclusion,  she  began  to  forget 
her  aches.  When  a  waitress  came  June  asked  for  her 
bill.  It  was  sixpence.  She  put  her  hand  in  the  pocket 
of  her  coat.  Her  purse  was  not  there. 

With  a  little  thrill  of  fear,  she  felt  in  the  pocket  on 
the  other  side.  The  purse  was  not  there  either.  She 
was  stunned.  This  was  a  blow  far  worse  than  those 


THE   VAN   ROON  191 

she  had  just  received.  She  grew  so  dazed  that  as 
she  got  up  she  swayed  against  the  table,  and  had  to 
hold  on  by  it  to  save  herself  from  falling. 

The  waitress  who  had  written  out  the  bill  caught  a 
glimpse  of  scared  eyes  set  in  a  face  of  chalk. 

"Aren't  you  well  ?"  she  asked. 

"I — I've  lost  my  purse,"  June  stammered.  "It's 
fallen  out  of  my  pocket,  I  think."  As  with  frantic 
futility  she  plunged  her  hand  in  again,  she  was  raked 
by  the  true  meaning  of  such  a  fact  in  all  its  horror. 
Unless  her  purse  had  been  stolen  on  the  Underground, 
and  it  was  not  very  likely,  it  had  almost  certainly  fallen 
out  of  her  pocket  in  the  course  of  the  struggle  with 
Uncle  Si. 

It  was  lying  now  on  the  shop  floor  unless  the  old 
wretch  had  found  it  already.  And  if  he  had  he  would 
lose  no  time  in  examining  its  contents.  He  had  only 
to  do  so  for  the  cloak-room  ticket  to  tell  him  where 
the  Van  Roon  was  deposited,  and  to  provide  him  with 
a  sure  means  of  obtaining  it. 

"You  may  have  had  your  pocket  picked." 

June  did  not  think  so.  Yet,  being  unable  to  take 
the  girl  into  her  confidence,  she  did  not  choose  to  dis- 
close her  doubts. 

"Perhaps  I  have,"  she  gasped.  And  then  face  to 
face  with  the  extreme  peril  of  the  case,  Jier  overdriven 
nerves  broke  out  in  mutiny.  She  burst  into  tears.  "I 
don't  know  what  I'll  do,"  she  sobbed. 

The  waitress  was  full  of  sympathy.  "Your  bill  is 
only  sixpence.  Come  in  and  pay  to-morrow." 

Through  her  tears  June  thanked  her. 

"  'Tisn't  my  bill,  although  it's  very  kind  of  you. 
There  was  something  very  important  in  my  purse." 


192  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Where  did  you  have  it  last?" 

"In  the  booking  hall,  when  I  took  a  ticket  from 
Victoria  to  Charing  Cross." 

"Your  pocket's  been  picked,"  said  the  waitress  with 
conviction.  "There's  a  warning  in  all  the  Tubes." 

The  comfort  was  cold,  yet  comfort  it  was  of  a  kind. 
June  saw  a  wan  ray  of  hope.  After  all,  there  was  a 
bare  possibility  that  inexorable  Fate  was  not  the  thief. 

"I'd  go  to  Scotland  Yard  if  I  were  you,"  said  the 
waitress.  "The  police  often  get  back  stolen  property. 
Last  year  my  sister's  house  was  burgled,  and  they 
recovered  nearly  everything  for  her." 

June  began  to  pull  herself  together.  It  was  not 
hope,  however,  that  braced  her  faculties,  but  an  effort 
of  will.  Hope  there  was  none  of  recovering  the  purse, 
but  she  was  now  faced  by  the  stern  necessity  of  getting 
back  the  picture.  In  the  light  of  this  tragedy  it  was 
in  most  serious  peril.  Delay  might  be  fatal,  if  indeed 
it  had  not  already  proved  to  be  so.  She  must  go  at 
once  and  get  possession  of  the  treasure  lest  it  be  too 
late. 

The  waitress  was  a  good  Samaritan.  Not  only  could 
the  bill  wait  until  the  next  day,  but  she  went  even 
further:  "Is  your  home  far  from  here?"  she  asked. 

"My  home — far?"  said  Jane,  dazedly.  For  the 
moment  she  did  not  understand  all  that  was  implied 
by  the  question. 

"If  you  live  on  the  District,  and  you  haven't  a  sea- 
son, I  don't  mind  lending  you  a  shilling  to  get  you 
home." 

June  accepted  a  shilling  with  earnest  thanks.  In 
the  circumstances,  it  might  be  worth  untold  gold: 
"You  can  give  it  me  back  any  time  you  are  passing," 


THE   VAN    ROON  193 

said  the  waitress,  as  June  thanked  her  again  and  made 
her  way  unsteadily  out  into  the  street. 

The  chill  air  of  the  Strand  revived  her  a  little.  She 
had  decided  already  that  she  must  go  at  once  to  Vic- 
toria. Every  minute  would  count,  and  it  now  occurred 
to  her  that  if  she  took  the  Underground,  several  might 
be  saved. 

To  the  Underground  in  Trafalgar  Square  she  went. 
It  was  the  hour  of  the  evening  rush.  Queues  were 
lining  up  at  all  the  booking  office  windows.  And  at 
the  first  window  she  came  to,  some  three  persons  or  so 
ahead  of  her,  was  a  figure  oddly  familiar,  which,  how- 
ever, in  her  present  state  of  disintegration  she  did  not 
recognize  at  once.  It  was  clad  in  a  sombre  tail  coat 
of  prehistoric  design,  jemima  boots,  frayed  shepherd's 
plaid  trousers  braced  high  and  a  hard  square  felt  hat 
which  gave  a  crowning  touch  of  oppressive  respecta- 
bility. Moreover,  its  progress  was  assisted  by  a  heavy 
knotted  walking  stick,  at  the  sight  of  which  June  gave 
an  involuntary  shiver. 

An  instant  later  the  shiver  had  developed  into  a 
long  and  paralyzing  shudder.  Uncle  Si  was  just  ahead 
of  her;  in  fact  she  was  near  enough  to  hear  a  harsh 
voice  demand  almost  with  menace  a  ticket  to  Victoria. 

June's  worst  fears  were  realized.  The  purse  had 
fallen  from  her  pocket  to  the  shop  floor  in  the  struggle ; 
the  old  wretch  had  found  it,  deciphered  the  precious 
ticket,  put  two  and  two  together,  and  was  now  on  his 
way  to  claim  the  parcel.  All  this  was  crystal  clear  to 
her  swift  mind.  She  felt  a  strong  desire  to  faint,  but 
she  fought  her  weakness.  She  must  go  on.  Every- 
thing was  as  good  as  lost — but  she  must  go  on. 

She  took  her  ticket.     And  then  in  the  long  subway 


194  THE   VAN   ROON 

to  the  platform  she  raced  on  ahead  of  Uncle  Si.  He 
was  so  near-sighted  that  even  had  he  been  less  absorbed 
in  his  own  affairs  he  would  not  have  been  likely  to 
notice  her. 

June  reached  the  platform  well  in  front  of  the  old 
man.  But  the  train  to  Victoria  was  not  in.  It  arrived 
two  minutes  later;  by  then,  Uncle  Si  had  appeared, 
and  they  boarded  it  together.  She  was  careful,  how- 
ever, not  to  enter  the  same  compartment  as  the  enemy. 

Short  as  the  journey  was,  June  had  ample  time  to 
appreciate  that  the  odds  were  heavily  against  her.  The 
mere  fact  that  the  cloak-room  receipt  for  the  parcel 
was  in  the  custody  of  Uncle  Si  would  confer  posses- 
sion upon  him ;  it  had  only  to  be  presented  for  the  Van 
Roon  to  be  handed  over  without  a  question. 

The  one  chance  she  had  now  was  to  get  on  well 
ahead  of  the  old  beast,  and  convince  the  clerk  that  in 
spite  of  the  absence  of  the  ticket  the  parcel  was  hers. 
She  knew,  however,  only  too  well  that  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  do  this  was  frail  indeed — at  all  events 
before  the  holder  of  the  ticket  arrived  on  the  scene  to 
claim  it. 

At  Victoria,  June  dashed  out  of  the  train  even  before 
it  stopped.  Running  past  the  ticket  collector  at  the 
barrier  and  along  the  subway  she  reached  the  escalator 
yards  in  front  of  Uncle  Si,  and,  in  spite  of  being  unused 
to  this  trap  for  the  unwary,  for  Blackhampton's  more 
primitive  civilization  knew  escalators  not,  she  ascended 
to  the  street  at  a  pace  far  beyond  the  powers  of  the 
Old  Crocodile.  By  this  means,  indeed,  she  counted  on 
gaining  an  advantage  of  several  minutes,  since  it  was 
hardly  likely  that  Uncle  Si  would  trust  himself  to  such 
a  contrivance,  and  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  she  was 


THE   VAN    ROON  195 

just  ahead,  would  choose  the  dignified  safety  of  the 
lift. 

So  far  as  it  went  the  thought  was  reassuring.  Alas, 
it  did  not  go  far.  As  June  ran  through  the  long  station 
to  the  cloak-room  at  its  farthest  end,  she  had  but  a  very 
slender  hope  of  being  able  to  recover  the  parcel.  She 
had  no  intention,  however,  of  submitting  tamely  to  fate. 
In  this  predicament,  whatever  the  cost,  she  must  make 
one  last  and  final  effort  to  get  back  her  treasure. 

At  the  cloak-room  counter  she  took  her  courage  in 
both  hands.  A  man  sour  and  elderly  had  replaced  the 
wearer  of  the  green  corduroy,  who  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  This  was  a  piece  of  bad  luck,  for  she  had  hoped 
that  the  nice-looking  young  man  might  remember  her. 
Happily,  no  other  passengers  besieged  the  counter  at 
the  moment,  so  that  without  loss  of  time  June  was  able 
to  describe  the  parcel  and  to  announce  the  fact  that 
the  ticket  she  had  received  for  it  was  missing. 

Exactly  as  she  had  foreseen  the  clerk  raised  an  objec- 
tion. Without  a  ticket  she  couldn't  have  the  parcel. 
"But  I  simply  must  have  it,"  said  June.  And  spurred 
by  the  knowledge  that  there  was  not  one  moment  to 
lose  in  arguing  the  case,  she  boldly  lifted  the  flap  of 
the  counter  and  entered  the  cloak-room  itself. 

"No  use  coming  in  here,"  said  the  Clerk,  crustily. 
"You  can't  take  nothing  away  without  a  ticket." 

"But  my  purse  has  been  stolen,  I  tell  you,"  said  June. 

"Then  I  should  advise  you  to  go  and  see  the  station- 
master." 

"I  can't  wait  to  do  that."  And  with  the  defiance 
of  despair,  expecting  each  moment  to  hear  the  voice 
of  Uncle  Si  at  her  back,  June  ignored  the  Clerk,  and 
proceeded  to  gaze  up  and  down  the  numerous  and 
heavily  burdened  luggage  racks  for  her  property. 


XXXIV 

OT  a  bit  o'  use,  don't  I  tell  you."  The  Clerk 
was  growing  angry. 

June  pretended  not  to  hear.  Her  heart  beating  fast 
she  went  on  with  her  search  for  the  parcel ;  yet  in  the 
midst  of  it  she  grew  aware  that  somebody  was  ap- 
proaching the  counter.  She  dare  not  pause  to  look  who 
it  was,  for  she  knew  only  too  well  that  it  was  almost 
bound  to  be  Uncle  Si. 

The  Clerk  uttered  another  snarl  of  protest  as  he 
turned  away  to  attend  to  the  new  comer.  As  he  did 
so,  June  breathed  a  prayer  that  her  eye  might  fall  on 
the  parcel  in  that  instant,  for  her  only  hope  now  was 
to  seize  it  and  fly.  That,  however,  was  not  to  be.  She 
had  omitted  to  notice  the  place  in  which  it  had  been 
put,  and  do  as  she  would  she  could  not  find  it  now. 

At  this  crucial  moment,  there  emerged  from  the 
inner  office  her  friend  of  the  green  corduroy.  She 
simply  leapt  at  what  was  now  her  one  remaining  chance. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  cried  June,  in  a 
voice  that  was  a  little  frantic:  "You  remember  my 
bringing  a  brown  paper  parcel  here,  don't  you — about 
two  hours  ago?" 

The  tone,  tinged  as  it  was  with  hysteria,  caused 
Green  Corduroy  to  look  at  June  with  mild  astonish- 
ment. "I've  lost  the  ticket  you  gave  me  for  it,  but  I'm 
sure  you  remember  my  bringing  it."  Her  brain  seemed 
196 


THE   VAN    ROON  197 

on  fire.  "Don't  you  remember  my  giving  you  a  ten 
shilling  note?  And  you  had  to  go  and  get  the  change." 

Green  Corduroy  was  a  slow-brained  youth,  but  a 
knitting  of  the  brow  seemed  to  induce  a  hazy  recollec- 
tion of  the  incident.  But  while  the  process  was  going 
on,  June  gave  a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  and  behold 
there  was  Uncle  Si  the  other  side  of  the  counter.  A 
second  glance  told  her,  moreover,  that  Crusty  Sides 
already  had  the  fatal  ticket  in  his  hand. 

What  must  she  do?  It  was  not  a  moment  for  half 
measures.  While  she  was  stirring  the  memory  of 
Green  Corduroy,  the  treasure  would  be  gone.  She  did 
not  hesitate.  Observing  Crusty  Sides  wheel,  paper  in 
hand,  with  the  slow  austerity  of  one  of  the  Company's 
oldest  and  most  respected  servants  towards  a  luggage 
rack  near  by,  June  seized  the  clue.  Of  a  sudden  her 
eyes  lit  on  the  parcel  at  the  top  of  the  pile.  Already 
the  responsible  fingers  of  Crusty  Sides  were  straying 
upwards,  yet  before  they  could  enclose  the  Van  Roon, 
June  made  a  dash  for  it,  and  managed  to  whisk  it  away 
from  under  his  nose. 

Her  brain  was  like  quicksilver  now.  She  had  a  mad 
impulse  to  rush  off  with  the  treasure  without  further 
explanation ;  all  the  same  she  was  able  to  resist  it,  for 
she  realized  that  such  a  course  would  be  too  full  of 
peril. 

"Yes — this  is  it,"  she  said  in  an  urgent  whisper  to 
Green  Corduroy.  And  as  she  spoke,  with  a  presence  of 
mind,  which  in  the  circumstances  was  a  little  uncanny, 
she  slipped  behind  a  large  pile  of  boxes  out  of  view  of 
Uncle  Si. 

"Surely  you  remember  my  bringing  it?" 

Green  Corduroy  seemed  to  think  that  he  did  remem- 


198  THE   VAN    ROON 

her.  At  this  point  Crusty  Sides,  with  an  air  of  outrage, 
sternly  interposed.  "But  a  pawty  claims  it.  And  here's 
his  ticket." 

"The  ticket's  mine,"  said  June,  in  a  fierce  whisper. 
"It's  been  taken  from  my  purse." 

"Nothin'  to  do  with  us,  that  ain't,"  said  Crusty  Sides. 

"But  you  do  remember  my  bringing  it,  don't  you?" 
Beseechingly  June  turned  to  Green  Corduroy  And  he, 
that  nice-looking  young  man,  with  a  frown  of  ever- 
deepening  perplexity,  slowly  affirmed  that  he  thought 
he  did  remember. 

"The  ticket's  what  we've  got  to  go  by,"  said  Crusty 
Sides,  sternly.  "Nothin'  else  matters  to  us." 

"If  you'll  look  at  it,"  said  June  to  Green  Corduroy, 
"you'll  see  that  it's  made  out  in  your  writing." 

Green  Corduroy  looked  and  saw  that  it  was.  As 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  that  seemed  to  clinch  the 
argument.  And  even  Crusty  Sides,  a  born  bureaucrat, 
was  rather  impressed  by  it.  "You  say  this  here  ticket's 
been  taken  off  on  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  June  in  an  excited  whisper.  "By  my 
wicked  thief  of  an  uncle." 

Instantly  she  regretted  the  imprudence  of  her  words. 

"Uncle  a  thief,  eh?"  proclaimed  Crusty  Sides,  in 
a  voice  of  such  carrying  power  that  to  June  it  seemed 
that  the  Old  Crocodile  could  hardly  fail  to  hear  him. 

"Anyhow,  this  gentleman  knows  that  it  was  I  who 
brought  the  parcel,"  she  said,  determinedly  to  Green 
Corduroy. 

That  young  man  looked  her  straight  in  the  eye,  and 
then  declared  that  he  did  know.  Further,  like  many 
minds  "slow  in  the  uptake,"  when  once  in  motion  they 
are  prone  to  deep  conclusions.  "Seems  to  me,  Nobby," 


THE   VAN    ROON  199 

he  weightily  affirmed,  under  the  stimulus  no  doubt  of 
being  addressed  as  a  gentleman,  in  the  Company's  time, 
by  such  a  good-looking  girl,  "that  as  this  lady  has  got 
the  parcel,  and  we  have  got  the  ticket  for  it,  she  and 
Uncle  had  better  fight  it  out  between  'em." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  growled  Nobby. 

Green  Corduroy,  however,  stimulated  by  the  fiery 
anguish  of  June's  glance,  and  no  doubt  still  in  thrall 
to  the  fact  that  she  considered  him  a  gentleman,  was  not 
to  be  moved  from  the  statesmanlike  attitude  he  had 
taken  up.  "You  let  'em  fight  it  out,  Nobby.  This  lady 
was  the  one  as  brought  it  here." 

"I  gave  you  a  ten  shilling  note,  didn't  I  ?"  The  voice 
of  June  was  as  honeyed  as  the  state  of  her  feelings 
would  permit. 

"Yes,  and  I  fetched  the  change  for  you,  didn't  I?" 

Crusty  Sides  shook  a  head  of  confirmed  misogyny. 
"Very  irregular,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say  about  it." 

"Maybe  it  is,  Nobby.  But  it's  nothing  to  do  with 
you  and  me." 

Green  Corduroy,  with  almost  the  air  of  a  knight 
errant,  took  the  all-important  slip  of  paper  from  his 
colleague.  Flaunting  it  in  gallant  fingers,  he  moved 
up  slowly  to  the  counter. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  buying  spectacles  on  nose, 
knotted  cudgel  in  hand,  was  impatiently  waiting.  "The 
parcel  is  claimed  by  the  lady  who  brought  it,"  June 
heard  Green  Corduroy  announce. 

She  waited  for  no  more.  Following  close  behind 
Crusty  Sides,  who  also  moved  up  to  the  counter,  she 
slipped  quietly  through  an  adjacent  door  to  the  main 
line  platform  before  Uncle  Si  grew  fully  alive  to  the 
situation. 


200  THE   VAN   ROON 

Clasping  the  parcel  to  her  bosom,  she  glided  swiftly 
down  the  platform,  and  out  by  the  booking  hall,  travel- 
ling as  fast  as  her  legs  would  take  her,  without  breaking 
into  a  run,  which  would  have  looked  like  guilt,  and 
might  have  attracted  public  notice.  She  did  not  dare  to 
glance  back,  for  she  was  possessed  by  a  fear  that  the 
old  man  and  his  stick  were  at  her  heels. 

Once  clear  of  the  station  itself,  she  yielded  to  the 
need  of  putting  as  much  distance  between  Uncle  Si  and 
herself  as  a  start  so  short  would  permit  There  was 
now  hope  of  throwing  him  off  the  track.  Thus,  as 
soon  as  she  reached  the  Victoria  Street  corner,  she 
scrambled  on  to  a  bus  that  was  in  the  act  of  moving 
away. 

One  seat  only  was  vacant  and,  as  in  a  state  of  immi- 
nent collapse  she  sank  down  upon  it,  she  ventured  for 
the  first  time  to  look  behind  her.  She  quite  expected  to 
find  Uncle  Si  at  her  elbow  already,  but  with  a  gasp  of 
relief  she  learned  that  the  old  man  was  nowhere  in 
sight 


XXXV 

JUNE  did  not  know  in  which  direction  the  bus  was 
going.  And  when  the  conductor  came  for  her 
fare,  which  he  did  as  soon  as  the  vehicle  began  to  move, 
she  was  quite  at  a  loss  for  a  destination.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  draw  a  bow  at  a  venture.  She 
asked  for  Oxford  Circus,  the  only  nodal  point  of  the 
metropolis,  besides  Charing  Cross,  with  which  she  was 
familiar.  By  a  rare  piece  of  luck,  Oxford  Circus  was 
included  in  its  route,  and  what  remained  of  the  shilling 
the  girl  at  the  teashop  had  given  her  was  sufficient  to 
get  her  there,  and  leave  f  ourpence  in  hand. 

Alighting  at  Oxford  Circus,  she  stood  under  a  lamp 
to  consider  what  she  should  do  now.  There  was  no- 
where she  could  go,  there  was  not  one  friend  to  whom 
she  could  turn.  Battered  and  spent  in  body  and  spirit 
by  all  that  had  happened  to  her  during  the  last  few 
hours  she  was  now  in  a  flux  of  terror  to  which  she 
dare  not  yield. 

At  first -she  thought  of  seeking  advice  of  a  policeman, 
but  it  would  have  been  extremely  difficult  just  then  to 
tell  her  strange  story.  Its  complications  were  many 
and  fantastic ;  besides,  and  she  trembled  at  the  idea,  it 
was  by  no  means  clear  that  she  would  be  able  to  estab- 
lish her  claim  to  the  Van  Roon  in  the  eye  of  the  law. 

Still,  something  would  have  to  be  done.  She  must 
find  a  home  of  some  kind  not  only  for  her  treasure, 
201 


202  THE   VAN    ROOM 

but  for  herself.  Feeling  desperately  in  need  of  help, 
she  decided  as  a  preliminary  measure  to  spend  three 
of  her  four  remaining  pence  on  a  cup  of  tea.  She  had 
a  vague  hope  that  in  that  magic  beverage  inspiration 
might  lurk. 

The  hope,  as  it  chanced,  was  not  vain.  Near  by  was 
an  A.B.C.  shop;  and  she  had  hardly  sat  down  at  one 
of  its  marble-topped  tables  when,  by  an  association  of 
ideas,  her  mysterious  acquaintance,  Mr.  Adolph  Keller, 
sprang  again  into  her  mind.  He  had  given  her  his 
address.  Alas,  the  slip  of  paper  on  which  it  was  written 
was  in  her  purse,  but  she  had  a  particularly  good  mem- 
ory, and  by  raking  it  fiercely  she  was  able  to  recall  the 
fact  that  his  place  of  domicile  was  Haliburton  Studios, 
Manning  Square. 

She  did  not  like  trusting  any  man  on  an  acquaintance 
so  slight,  especially  as  it  had  come  about  in  so  odd  a 
fashion,  but  Mr.  Keller  had  shown  himself  very 
friendly,  and  there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  she  could 
turn.  Sipping  her  cup  of  tea,  in  slow  and  grateful 
weariness,  she  began  to  develop  this  idea.  Horse  sense, 
Mr.  Boultby  had  always  said,  was  her  long  suit ;  there- 
fore she  well  understood  the  peril  of  taking  a  compara- 
tive stranger  into  her  confidence.  But  very  cogently 
she  put  to  herself  the  question:  What  else  could  she  do? 

Of  sundry  policemen,  who  were  very  obliging,  June 
asked  the  way  to  Manning  Square.  It  was  in  Soho,  not 
so  very  far  from  Oxford  Circus,  as  she  remembered 
Mr.  Keller  saying,  and,  in  spite  of  a  local  fog  which 
had  come  on  in  the  last  twenty  minutes,  the  police  were 
so  helpful  that  she  had  no  great  difficulty  in  getting 
there.  During  the  short  journey  her  mind  was  much 
engaged  in  settling  just  what  she  would  and  would  not 


THE    VAN    ROON  203 

say  to  Mr.  Keller.  She  decided  that  as  far  as  might 
be  practicable  she  would  leave  the  picture  out  of  the 
case.  It  might  not  be  possible  to  exclude  it,  but  at  any 
rate  she  would  begin  by  offering  to  sit  to  him  as  a 
model,  in  accordance  with  his  suggestion ;  and  with  that 
the  pretext  of  her  visit  she  would  see  if  she  could  get 
him  to  lend  her  a  little  money  to  tide  over  immediate 
needs. 

By  the  time  she  had  come  to  Manning  Square  it  was 
a  few  minutes  past  seven.  Two  complete  circuits  had 
to  be  made  of  this  dingy,  ill-smelling  gap  in  the  heart 
of  Soho,  before  she  came  upon  Haliburton  Studios, 
which  were  not  in  the  Square  itself,  but  in  a  dismal 
by-street  debouching  from  it.  The  tall  block  of  build- 
ings which  comprised  the  studios  was  equally  dismal, 
and  as  June  entered  a  vestibule  that  shewed  no  light, 
she  felt  a  sudden  chill  strike  at  her  heart. 

This,  however,  was  not  a  moment  to  quail.  It  was  a 
case,  if  ever  there  was  one,  of  any  port  in  a  storm. 
The  hazard  of  her  errand  fell  upon  her  like  a  pall,  but 
the  knowledge  that  she  had  only  a  penny  left  with  which 
to  obtain  a  night's  lodging  was  a  veritable  barb  in  the 
flesh. 

Try  as  she  would  she  could  not  recall  the  number 
of  Mr.  Keller's  studio;  nor  was  the  information  to  be 
found  upon  the  walls  of  the  vestibule  which  she  was 
not  able  to  see.  But  while  she  stood  at  the  foot  of  a 
winding  flight  of  stone  steps,  striving  to  meet  the  diffi- 
culty which  faced  her  now,  she  heard  someone  coming 
down.  At  the  sound  she  went  back  to  the  door  by 
which  she  had  entered,  where  a  lamp  contending  feebly 
against  the  fog,  would  enable  her  to  see  anyone  who 
passed  out  of  the  flats. 


204  THE   VAN    ROON 

The  person  who  did  so  proved  to  be  one  of  June's 
own  sex,  a  youngish  woman  whose  fur  coat  seemed  to 
accentuate  a  note  of  tawdry  and  flamboyant  finery. 
Even  in  the  semi-darkness  June  could  see  that  her  face 
was  rouged. 

She  had  no  illusion  as  to  the  kind  of  person  she 
addressed: 

"You  want  Mr.  Keller's  studio?"  The  woman 
peered  into  June's  face  in  a  manner  which  she  felt  to 
be  decidedly  objectionable.  "It's  the  second  door  on 
the  first  landing."  The  tone,  offhand,  and  more  than  a 
little  contemptuous,  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face. 


XXXVI 

IT  was  not  until  the  woman  had  passed  out  of  the 
vestibule  into  the  street  that  June  could  find  courage 
to  mount  the  stone  stairs. 

The  knocker  on  the  second  door  was  so  crazy  that 
it  threatened  to  break  off  in  her  hand.  Tact  and  skill 
were  called  for  to  draw  sound  from  it  at  all ;  bell  there 
was  none ;  but  a  faint  light  percolated  through  the  fan- 
light and  it  was  a  glimpse  of  this  which  heartened  June 
to  persevere.  By  dint  of  application  she  was  able  to 
coax  a  few  sounds  out  of  the  knocker,  a  feat  which 
at  last  brought  reward.  The  beam  beyond  the  fanlight 
expanded ;  there  was  a  shuffle  of  approaching  slippers ; 
and  then  the  door  came  open. 

Mr.  Keller,  wearing  a  dressing  gown  in  lieu  of  a 
coat,  stood  before  her. 

"Hulloa!"hesaid. 

Before  June  could  find  words  of  her  own  she  had 
been  recognized:  "Why — it's  you!"  The  gentlemanly 
voice  sounded  most  agreeable.  "Walk  right  in.  You're 
welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May." 

Tossed  by  the  tempest  as  Mr.  Keller's  visitor  still 
was,  she  could  not  help  contrasting  such  a  welcome  with 
the  air  and  manner  of  Uncle  Si. 


205 


XXXVII 

THE  geniality  of  Adolph  Keller  had  a  tonic  effect 
upon  June's  depression.  She  crossed  his  thresh- 
old with  a  sense  of  extreme  relief,  as  one  who  finds  a 
refuge  from  the  storm.  He  closed  the  door  of  the 
flat,  and  then  led  the  way  into  a  spacious  room  with  a 
high  ceiling  which  was  fixed  up  as  a  studio. 

It  was  not  without  an  air  of  comfort.  The  main  part 
had  been  screened  off;  within  a  small  but  seductive 
inner  space  a  bright  fire  mingled  pleasant  gleams  with 
the  radiance  of  the  electric  lamp.  Two  low  wicker 
chairs  were  set  invitingly  near  the  hearth,  and  a  table 
piled  with  books  and  magazines  was  between  them. 
Amid  these,  however,  space  had  been  found  for  a 
tobacco  jar,  a  siphon,  a  glass  and  a  bottle  of  whisky. 
On  the  floor  was  a  French  novel,  which  he  had  laid 
down  open  to  let  her  in. 

Mr.  Keller,  evidently,  was  making  himself  com- 
fortable for  the  night.  The  contrast  between  this  snug 
and  cheerful  room  and  the  rising  fog,  from  which 
June  had  just  escaped,  struck  her  at  once  as  delightful. 
With  a  little  sigh  of  gratitude,  she  sank  at  the  cordial 
invitation  of  her  host  into  the  first  of  the  easy  chairs. 

He  remembered  her  quite  well,  of  course,  yet  for 

the  moment  he  had  forgotten  her  name,  and  what  to 

June  was  the  more  surprising,  the  appointment  she  had 

made  with  him  for  that  very  afternoon  seemed  to  have 

206 


THE   VAN    ROON  207 

passed  right  out  of  his  mind.  Yet  she  was  quick  to 
see,  for  her  wits  were  now  working  at  high  pressure, 
that  this  strange  forgetfulness  was  in  her  favour.  At 
any  rate,  it  was  going  to  help  her  in  the  task  of  keeping, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  Van  Roon  out  of  the  case. 

"Lyons',  wasn't  it,  we  met  at?  One  day  last  week? 
Your  name's ?" 

"I'm  Miss  Gedge."  June's  tone  was  a  shade  "stand 
off,"  for  that  appeared  to  be  correct  in  the  circum- 
stances. 

"Miss  Gedge — yes — of  course.  Stupid  of  me  to 
forget."  He  fixed  the  eye  of  a  man  with  a  sense  of 
humour  upon  this  odd  visitor.  "I've  a  shocking  mem- 
ory for  names.  Very  glad  to  see  you,  anyhow,  Miss 
Gedge."  He  took  the  low  chair  opposite  with  the 
calm  and  easy  air  of  a  model  host.  "And  very  nice 
of  you  to  come  on  a  damp  and  foggy  night." 

The  tone,  rather  than  the  words,  put  it  up  to  June 
to  explain  her  coming.  She  did  so  rather  awkwardly, 
with  a  touch  of  "nerves."  Yet  before  committing  her- 
self to  any  positive  statement  as  to  why  she  was  there, 
she  was  careful  to  dispose  the  parcel  she  carried  as  far 
beyond  the  range  of  his  eyes  as  was  possible  at  the  side 
of  the  wicker  chair  in  which  she  sat. 

"You  told  me  the  other  day" — She  found  it  impos- 
sible to  control  the  queer  little  tremble  in  her  voice — 
"that  you  wanted  an  artist's  model,  and  that  my  hair 
was  just  the  colour  you  were  looking  for." 

"By  Jove,  yes,"  he  laughed.  "Your  hair's  topping." 
The  laugh  deepened  to  enthusiasm.  "It's  the  colour  I 
want,  to  a  hayseed."  An  eye  of  veiled  appraisement 
passed  slowly  over  her.  "And  what's  almost  as  im- 
portant there's  stocks  of  it." 


208  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Yes,  there  is,"  said  June,  doing  her  best  to  pick  up 
his  light  tone  of  intimacy.  "It  is  important,  I  suppose, 
for  an  artist's  model  to  have  hair  long  and  thick." 

"Ra-ther!"  As  he  looked  at  her  sideways,  out  of 
the  corner  of  one  eye,  his  tone  seemed  to  change  a 
little;  and  then  he  got  up  alertly  from  his  chair,  the 
mantle  of  the  model  host  again  upon  him.  "I'm  afraid 
there's  not  much  to  offer  you  in  the  way  of  refreshment. 
There's  only  whisky.  If  you'll  excuse  me  a  minute, 
I'll  fetch  another  glass." 

"Oh,  no,  please,  not  for  me,"  said  June  quickly.  She 
was  very  tired  and  horribly  depressed,  but  she  had  been 
strictly  brought  up. 

The  host  seemed  a  little  amused  by  her  vehemence. 
He  looked  at  her  keenly  with  a  pair  of  curious,  small, 
near-set  eyes,  which  June  liked  even  less  now  than  when 
she  had  noticed  them  first.  "Well,  have  a  cigarette, 
anyhow.  These  are  like  mother's  milk."  And  he 
offered  a  box  of  Virginia. 

June  also  declined  a  cigarette,  in  the  same  odd, 
rather  fluttered  tone  which  caused  him  to  smile  in  a 
way  that  added  to  her  nervousness. 

"No?  Well,  make  yourself  comfy,  anyhow.  Draw 
your  chair  up  to  the  fire." 

She  thanked  him  in  a  voice  which,  in  spite  of  itself 
was  a  little  prim,  and  which  assured  him  that  she  was 
quite  warm  enough  where  she  was.  The  attempted 
lightness  and  ease  had  gone ;  a  subtle  sense  of  fear,  bred 
of  hidden  danger  yet  without  any  root  in  fact  or  logic, 
was  rising  in  her.  The  position  itself  was  embarrass- 
ing, yet  so  far  Mr.  Keller  had  shown  no  wish  to  pre- 
sume upon  it.  Up  till  now  he  had  been  easy  and 
charming;  but  June,  in  spite  of  worldly  inexperience, 


THE   VAN   ROON  209 

had  the  intuitions  of  her  sex  to  guide  her;  and  she  felt 
instinctively  that  there  might  be  a  great  deal  behind 
these  graces.  She  was  grateful  all  the  same ;  they  were 
much  needed  balm  for  many  bruises. 

When  Mr.  Keller  sat  down  again  in  the  wicker  chair, 
about  two  yards  away  from  her,  a  sense  of  languor 
crept  upon  June.  The  warmth  of  the  fire,  the  glow  of 
the  lamp,  the  notes  of  a  singularly  quiet  voice  were  like 
a  subtle  drug.  Alive  to  danger  as  she  was,  its  caress 
was  hard  to  resist.  Such  a  position  was  one  of  acute 
peril,  for  she  was  literally  throwing  herself  upon  the 
mercy  of  a  person  who  was  very  much  an  unknown 
quantity,  yet  what  alternative  was  there? 

"Don't  mind  a  pipe,  I  hope?"  The  polite  voice  from 
the  chair  opposite  was  not  really  ironical ;  it  was  merely 
kind  and  friendly,  yet  feminine  intuition  shivering 
upon  the  dark  threshold  of  a  mighty  adventure  knew 
well  enough  how  easily  a  tone  of  that  kind  could  turn  to 
something  else. 

"Oh  no,  I  don't  mind  at  all."  She  tried  again  to  get 
the  right  key,  but  a  laugh  she  could  not  control,  high- 
pitched  and  irrelevant,  was  horribly  betraying. 

"That's  all  right  then." 

For  about  a  minute,  Mr.  Keller  puffed  away  in  a 
sort  of  whimsical  silence.  Then  he  said  with  a  soft 
fall,  whose  mere  sweetness  had  the  power  to  alarm, 
"Your  hair's  jolly.  Very  jolly  indeed !" 

June  nervously  muttered  that  she  was  very  glad  he 
liked  it. 

"So  much  of  it,  don't  you  know.  Awfully  useful 
to  me  just  now.  Quantity's  almost  as  valuable  as  the 
colour.  Does  it  reach  your  waist  when  you  let  it 
down?" 


210  THE   VAN   ROON 

June,  not  without  a  little  pride,  said  that  her  hair 
when  let  down  reached  below  her  waist. 

"Capital!"  said  Mr.  Keller,  with  a  laugh.  "The 
very  thing  I'm  looking  for  just  now.  You'll  make  a 
stunning  Andromeda." 

June  had  not  heard  of  Andromeda  She  had  read 
some  Dickens,  and  a  little  George  Eliot,  and  she  could 
remember  bits  of  Shakespeare  learned  at  school,  but  her 
tastes  were  not  literary.  She  pretended  to  know  all  about 
Andromeda,  yet  the  next  words  of  Mr.  Keller  were 
a  proof  that  he  was  not  deceived.  June  did  not 
know,  however,  that  he  had  pierced  clean  through 
her  ignorance. 

"She's  the  altogether.    A  classical  subject." 

"I  like  classical  subjects  myself."  Abruptly  June's 
mind  went  back  to  Miss  Preece,  the  revered  head  mis- 
tress of  the  Blackhampton  High  School  where  it  had 
been  her  privilege  to  spend  one  term.  Her  voice  rose 
a  whole  octave,  in  its  involuntary  desire  to  approxi- 
mate as  closely  as  possible  to  that  of  a  real  lady. 

"So  do  I."  Mr.  Keller's  humorous  purr  was  that 
of  a  man  well  pleased.  "That's  capital." 

"You  can't  beat  classical  subjects,  can  you?"  said 
June,  making  a  wild  attempt  to  achieve  the  conversa- 
tional. 

Again  Mr.  Keller  looked  across  at  her  out  of  those 
near-set  eyes  of  which  by  now  she  was  rather  afraid. 
"No,  you  can't,"  he  said.  "So  large  and  so  simple,  and 
yet  they  strike  so  deep.  They  are  life  itself.  A  sort  of 
summing  up,  don't  you  know,  of  all  that  has  been,  all 
that  can  be,  all  that  will  be." 

June  responded  with  more  composure  than  she  had 
yet  shewn  that  she  supposed  it  was  so.  It  was  nice  to 


THE   VAN   ROON  211 

listen  to  talk  of  this  kind  from  a  man  of  Mr.  Keller's 
polish.  The  chair  was  most  comfortable,  and  how  good 
it  was  to  be  in  front  of  the  bright  fire !  Her  nerves 
were  being  lulled  more  and  more  as  if  by  a  drug;  the 
sense  of  her  peril  -amid  this  sea  of  danger  into  which 
she  had  plunged  began  to  grow  less. 

"I  expect,"  said  Mr.  Keller,  in  a  tone  so  friendly 
and  so  casual  that  it  fed  the  new  sense  of  peace  which 
was  now  upon  June,  "I  expect  you  are  pretty  well  used 
to  the  altogether?" 

Even  if  she  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  was  meant 
by  "the  altogether,"  it  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  wise  to 
confess  such  ignorance.  "Ye-es,  I  suppose  I  am." 
And  in  a  weak  attempt  to  rise  to  his  own  agreeable 
plane  of  intimacy  she  laughed  rather  foolishly. 

"Capital!"  said  Adolph  Keller.  "You  are  a  well 
built  girl."  He  sipped  a  little  whisky  "Excellent 
shoulders.  Figure's  full  of  fine  lines.  Bust  well 
developed.  Plenty  of  heart  room.  Everything  just 
right." 

She  coloured  at  the  literal  way  in  which  he  cata- 
logued her  points;  even  if  it  was  done  in  the  manner 
of  an  artist  and  a  gentleman,  one  was  a  little  reminded 
of  a  dog  or  a  horse. 

"I'll  fix  you  up  a  screen.  And  then  you  can  get 
ready."  He  sipped  a  little  more  whisky,  and  rose 
briskly  and  cheerfully.  "Near  the  fire;  it's  real  chill- 
some  to-night.  And  when  you  pose  you  can  sit  on  top 
of  it  if  you  like."  He  opened  the  lid  of  the  coal  box, 
and  replenished  the  fire.  "We  must  take  care  you  don't 
catch  cold.  If  you  feel  a  draught,  you  can  have  a  rug 
round  your  knees.  I  only  want  to  make  a  rough  sketch 
of  the  lines  of  the  figure,  to  begin  with;  the  shoulders 


212  THE   VAN    ROON 

chiefly.  It  won't  take  long.  Quite  sure  you  won't  have 
a  finger?"  He  pointed  to  the  whisky.  "Buck  you  up 
a  bit.  You  look  rather  down." 

June  was  quite  sure  that  she  would  not  have  a  finger. 
Mr.  Keller  passed  beyond  the  screen  into  the  studio 
itself  to  procure  a  second  screen.  June  felt  this  activity 
to  be  alarming.  It  brought  her  up  against  the  fact 
that  she  was  there  in  the  capacity  of  an  artist's  model. 
Suddenly  it  dawned  upon  her  that  she  was  expected  to 
take  off  her  clothes* 


XXXVIII 

MR.  KELLER  cleared  a  space  near  the  fire,  and 
elaborately  arranged  a  second  screen,  which 
June  did  not  fail  to  notice  was  decorated  with  nude 
figures. 

'There  you  are,"  he  said.  "That'll  keep  you  snug. 
And  if  you  sit  on  a  stool  by  the  fire  with  a  rug  over 
your  knees,  you'll  be  as  warm  as  a  kitten." 

June  paled,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"Begin  as  soon  as  you  like,  the  sooner  the  better. 
Are  you  quite  sure  you  won't  have  just  a  spot?"  Again 
he  pointed  to  the  bottle  on  the  table.  "You  look  as  if 
you  want  a  drop  of  something." 

Once  more  June  declined  the  offer  in  a  voice  which 
in  her  own  ear  seemed  absurdly  small  and  faint. 

"Pity,"  said  Mr.  Keller  cheerfully,  as  he  looked  at 
her.  "It'd  put  some  life  in  you."  And  then,  as  she 
was  still  inert,  he  went  on  in  a  tone  which  pleasantly 
mingled  gentlemanliness  and  business,  "I  always  pay 
a  sovereign  an  hour,  you  know — for  the  altogether." 

A  light  of  fear  came  into  June's  large  eyes.  "Does 
it  mean,"  she  asked,  shyly  and  awkwardly,  as  she 
looked  away  from  him,  "that  I  shall  have  to  take  off 
my  clothes?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  said,  matter-of-factly.  Her 
obvious  embarrassment  was  not  lost  upon  him,  but  the 
knowledge  did  not  appear  in  his  manner. 

June  shivered  slightly.  In  that  shiver  a  deep  in- 
stinct spoke  for  her.  "I  couldn't  do  that,"  she  said. 
213 


214  THE   VAN   ROON 

"Why  not?"  He  lit  a  cigarette.  "Aren't  you 
well?" 

June  was  very  far  from  well.  She  felt  within  an 
ace  of  being  overcome  by  all  that  had  happened  to  her. 
Besides  her  bruised  shoulders  were  still  aching  horribly. 
Even  without  the  deep  instinct  that  governed  her,  it 
would  not  have  been  possible  to  expose  them. 

"No-no,"  she  said,  "I — I'm  not  well." 

As  she  spoke,  she  had  to  fight  a  powerful  desire  to 
burst  into  tears.  But  her  latent  fear  of  this  man  had 
suddenly  grown.  Overdriven  as  she  was,  however, 
she  was  yet  conscious  of  a  stern  need  to  keep  a  hold 
upon  herself.  She  knew  nothing,  less  than  nothing  of 
her  host,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  smooth  of  speech. 
On  the  surface  he  was  a  gentleman,  but  as  he  stood 
looking  down  at  her  now  she  glimpsed  in  his  dark  eyes 
that  which  seemed  to  countervail  everything. 

Again  she  shivered.  The  sense  of  helplessness  was 
paralyzing.  It  was  as  if  a  chasm  had  abruptly  opened 
right  under  her  feet.  She  was  at  his  mercy.  But  she 
must  not  give  one  thought,  so  long  as  a  spark  of  will 
remained  with  her,  to  the  possibility  of  throwing  her- 
self upon  it. 

He  continued  to  stand  looking  at  her  while  she 
fought  against  a  welling  weakness  that  must  have  been 
only  too  patent.  Then,  as  if  a  little  puzzled  by  her,  he 
went  and  fetched  a  glass  from  another  part  of  the 
studio.  He  poured  out  a  small  quantity  of  spirit  and 
offered  it  neat. 

"Drink  this.    It'll  do  you  good." 

His  voice,  for  the  first  time,  had  the  grip  of  author- 
ity. He  held  the  glass  to  her  lips,  but  as  if  containing 
deadly  fumes  they  shrank  from  contact  with  it. 


THE   VAN    ROON  215 

"Don't  be  a  little  fool."  The  sharp  tone  was  like 
the  touch  of  a  whip.  "Why  don't  you  do  as  you  are 
told?" 

She  had  not  the  strength  to  resent  the  command 
even  if  she  was  able  to  muster  the  power  to  resist  it. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  confronted  by  a  limit  to  pa- 
tience. "Why  have  you  come?  What's  the  matter 
with  you?  Tell  me." 

She  remained  mute.  There  was  nothing  she  could 
tell.  A  lodging  for  the  night,  food,  advice,  protection 
were  what  she  sought.  Dominated  completely  as  she 
was  by  hard  necessity,  she  yet  dare  not  confide  in 
Keller.  The  subtle  change  that  had  come  upon  him 
since  he  had  fixed  up  the  screen  and  poured  out  the 
whisky  filled  her  with  an  intense  longing  to  get  away. 
In  spite  of  a  growing  weakness,  which  now  threatened 
dire  collapse,  the  subtle  feelers  of  her  mind  were  on 
the  track  of  danger. 

With  a  slow  gathering  of  will  that  was  a  form  of 
agony,  she  tried  to  collect  the  force  to  rise  from  the 
perilous  comfort  of  the  low  wicker  chair.  But  she  was 
not  able  to  rouse  herself  to  action  before  the  effort  had 
been  nipped  by  his  next  remark. 

"If  you've  no  intention  of  sitting  to  me,  you'd  better 
say  in  two  words  why  you've  come  here." 

The  voice  was  no  longer  smooth ;  there  was  a  cutting 
edge  to  it,  lacerating  to  June's  ear. 

"I  wanted  you  to  lend  me  a  sovereign." 

It  was  the  literal  truth.  But  the  unguarded  words 
slipped  from  her  before  she  could  shape  or  control  them. 
Almost  before  they  were  uttered  she  realized  their  bitter 
unwisdom. 

"You  can  have  a  sovereign — if  that's  all  you  want." 


216  THE   VAN    ROON 

His  tone  grew  light  again.  "But  it's  only  fair  and 
reasonable  that  you  should  earn  it  first." 

Strive  as  she  would,  she  was  not  able  to  keep  a  faint 
dew  of  tears  from  filming  her  eyes. 

"No  need  to  take  off  more  than  your  bodice,  if  that's 
what's  troubling  you." 

With  her  shoulders  on  fire,  she  could  not  take  off  her 
bodice,  even  had  she  wished  to  do  so. 

She  sat  inert  while  he  continued  to  stand  before  her. 
The  thread  of  will  she  still  had,  fully  concentrated 
though  it  was  on  getting  away  from  him,  was  now  un- 
equal to  the  ugly  challenge  of  his  voice  and  eyes. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  half  whimpered. 

Suddenly,  in  her  own  despite,  her  defences  had 
begun  palpably  to  fail.  The  blunder  was  fatal — if  the 
cry  of  nature  overdriven  can  be  called  a  blunder.  His 
eyes  pinned  hers.  Trembling  under  the  spell  of  their 
hard  cunning  she  began  to  perceive  that  it  was  now  a 
case  of  the  serpent  and  the  bird. 

A  frown  darkened  his  face  as  he  cast  back  to  the 
first  meeting  with  this  girl.  He  tried  to  recall  their 
conversation  in  the  teashop  two  days  ago.  At  the 
time  it  had  interested  him  considerably,  but  he  had 
laughed  over  it  since,  and  decided  to  dismiss  it  from 
his  mind.  She  had  told  him  a  cock-and-bull  story  about 
a  picture.  He  could  not  recall  the  details  of  an  absurd 
yarn  which  had  not  seemed  worth  his  while  to  re- 
member. At  the  best  it  was  a  bald  and  unconvincing 
narrative.  But  it  concerned  a  Rembrandt.  No,  not  a 
Rembrandt.  A  Van  Roon ! 

With  a  heightening  of  curiosity,  Adolph  Keller 
gazed  at  the  hunted  creature  now  shrinking  from  his 
eyes.  By  Jove,  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been  through 


THE   VAN    ROON  217 

it !  Something  pretty  bad  must  have  happened  to  her 
quite  recently.  But  why  had  she  come  to  him? 

Thoughts  of  the  picture  set  his  active  mind  to  work. 
She  had  come  to  him  because  she  was  in  want  of 
money.  So  much,  at  least,  was  clear.  To  judge  by 
the  look  of  her,  she  had  probably,  at  a  moment's  notice, 
been  turned  out  of  house  and  home.  A  domestic 
servant,  no  doubt,  and  no  better  than  she  should  be, 
although  a  certain  taste  about  her  much-rumpled  clothes 
and  an  attempt  at  refinement  of  manner  suggested  the 
wish  to  rise  above  her  class. 

In  the  midst  of  this  quick  mind  process,  Adolph 
Keller  saw  the  brown  paper  parcel.  It  was  in  the  place 
where  his  visitor  had  laid  it  when  she  had  first  sat 
down.  He  noticed  that  she  had  cunningly  reared  it 
by  the  farther  side  of  her  chair,  so  that  it  might  be 
beyond  the  immediate  range  of  his  eye. 

Keller's  pulse  quickened,  yet  he  allowed  no  hint  of 
his  intriguing  discovery  to  shew  in  his  manner.  Once 
again  it  changed  towards  his  guest.  The  tone  of  sharp 
authority  vanished.  Twisting  a  dark  moustache  round 
strong,  yet  delicate  fingers,  his  air  of  extreme  gentle- 
manliness  verged  upon  the  sugary,  as  he  said:  "I  don't 
like  to  see  you  like  this.  I  don't  really." 

The  tone's  unexpectedness,  perhaps  even  more  than 
its  kindness,  moved  June  to  further  tears. 

"You  had  better  tell  me,  hadn't  you,  just  what's 
upset  you?" 

She  shook  miserably.  And  then,  thrown  off  her 
guard,  by  this  new  note  of  concern,  she  found  the 
courage  to  venture  again:  "Please  lend  me  a  sovereign 
and  let  me  go.  I  promise  solemnly  to  pay  it  back." 

He  smiled  in  a  way  obviously  to  reassure.    "What's 


218  THE   VAN    ROON 

your  hurry,  my  dear  girl?"  Soft,  as  were  the  words, 
they  yet  caused  the  design  to  fail. 

Their  non-effect  was  clearly  visible  in  the  girl's  tragic 
eyes.  She  was  caught  in  a  trap ;  all  his  trimmings  and 
posturings  seemed  only  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  she 
had  no  means  of  getting  out. 

Like  a  powerful  drug  the  brutal  truth  attacked  her 
brain.  It  was  as  if  its  higher  nerve  centres  could  no 
longer  act.  She  was  completely  in  the  power  of  this 
man.  And  only  too  well  did  she  know  that  he  knew  it. 

Inevitably  as  fate,  those  slim  fingers  dipped  towards 
the  side  of  her  chair.  "What  have  we  here?"  The 
inflexion  was  lightly  playful,  yet  it  drove  all  the  blood 
from  her  heart.  "May  I  look?"  His  hand  closed  on 
the  parcel  before  she  could  muster  one  futile  finger  to 
stay  it. 

Galvanized,  as  if  by  electricity,  she  sprang  up  from 
her  chair  without  knowing  what  she  did.  "Please — it's 
mine !"  Without  conscious  volition  she  tried  weakly  to 
defend  her  property. 

He  put  her  off  with  the  cheery  playfulness  of  a  teas- 
ing brother.  "Just  one  little  peep,"  he  said.  The  trea- 
sure was  yielding  its  wrappings  already  to  those  deft 
fingers.  Smiling  all  the  time,  he  treated  the  thing  as 
a  mere  joke.  And  he  was  able  to  give  the  joke  full 
effect,  because,  not  for  an  instant  did  he  expect  it  to 
turn  out  anything  else. 


XXXIX 

ADOLPH  KELLER  gave  a  low  whistle.    He  took 
in  his  breath  quickly.     The  treasure,  in  its  rare 
incredible  beauty,  had  declared  itself  to  his  eyes.    And 
to  the  eyes  of  an  artist,  wholly  unready  for  the  revela- 
tion, it  came  in  a  single  devastating  flash. 

"My  God !"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  half  rapture,  half 
surprise. 

Aglow  with  excitement  he  removed  the  shade  from 
the  electric  lamp.  Holding  the  picture  beneath  the  light, 
an  arm's  length  away  from  his  eyes,  he  turned  it  over 
several  times  in  that  fashion  of  the  expert  which  June 
had  now  learned  to  dread.  And  then  humming  softly, 
and  with  his  fingers  still  enclosing  it,  he  passed  beyond 
the  screen  to  a  table  on  which  lay  a  microscope. 

With  a  feeling  of  nausea,  June  watched  everything 
he  did.  Only  too  well  she  knew  that  the  microscope 
would  simply  feed  his  excitement.  In  a  fresh  spasm  of 
weakness,  she  reeled  against  the  chimneypiece.  She 
had  now  the  sensation  of  having  fallen  over  a  precipice 
into  a  bottomless  pit.  Already  she  was  sinking  down, 
down,  down  into  night  and  damnation. 

Keller  soon  returned,  microscope  in  hand ;  and  while 
he  plied  it  under  the  lamp  she  dare  not  glance  at  his 
face.  Passively  she  waited  for  his  next  words.  The 
power  of  action  had  left  her. 

When,  at  last,  he  did  speak,  his  voice  was  calmer  and 
gentler  than  she  looked  for.    "Tell  me,"  he  said,  "how 
did  you  come  by  this  rather  jolly  old  thing?" 
219 


220  THE   VAN   ROON 

The  tone  of  playfulness  was  almost  silly.  But  she 
was  not  deceived,  for  striking  through  it  was  the  oili- 
ness  of  Uncle  Si.  And  she  knew  that  she  had  only  to 
glance  at  that  face  shining  pale  under  the  lamp,  which 
was  a  thing  she  dare  not  do,  to  carry  the  resemblance 
farther. 

"Tell  me,"  he  repeated  softly. 

A  sense  of  destiny  seemed  to  weigh  her  down. 

"It  has  been  given  to  me."  Her  voice  was  hardly 
audible. 

"Given  to  you."  He  smiled  a  little,  as  his  mind 
went  off  in  search  of  the  half  forgotten  fragments  of 
their  talk  two  days  ago.  "Let  me  see — your  best  boy, 
wasn't  it?  — who  made  you  a  present  of  a  picture — by 
a  well  known  R.  A.?" 

June  did  not  know  how  to  answer,  yet  she  was  able 
to  realize  that  an  answer  of  some  kind  was  imperative. 

"That's  it,"  she  said  There  was  nothing  else  she 
could  say. 

"I  rather  like  this  thing,  do  you  know."  His  voice 
was  acquiring  a  sort  of  growing  brightness  which 
seemed  quite  to  admit  her  to  his  confidence.  "It  might 
almost  have  been  painted  by  the  snuffy  old  Scotsman — 
one  MacFarlane  by  name — who  first  shewed  me  how 
to  draw.  It's  just  in  his  manner.  By  Jove!" — The 
voice  of  Adolph  Keller  seemed  to  glow  with  humour — 
"I  can  almost  see  that  cantankerous  whiskyfied  old  fool 
daubing  that  water  and  those  trees.  But  in  his  day  not 
a  bad  painter,  you  know,  not  a  bad  painter."  And  the 
voice  of  the  pupil  tailed  off  in  a  note  of  reluctant  affec- 
tion of  which  he  seemed  half  ashamed. 

It  was  June's  turn  to  say  something,  but  her  frozen 
lips  could  not  utter. 


THE   VAN    ROON  221 

Keller,  holding  the  picture  in  both  hands,  gave  her 
a  side  look,  which  he  tried,  as  far  as  he  could,  to  con- 
ceal. In  the  midst  of  this  scrutiny,  he  said:  "To  you, 
I  expect,  one  picture  is  very  much  the  same  as  another?" 

"I  know  what  I  like,"  June  was  able  to  answer,  per- 
haps for  no  better  reason  than  that  by  now  she  under- 
stood only  too  well  that  it  hardly  mattered  what  she 
answered. 

"Well,  anyhow,  that's  something,"  said  Keller,  with 
a  forced  laugh.  "Great  thing  to  know  your  mind  in 
these  little  matters.  Nice  of  your  best  boy — was  your 
best  boy,  wasn't  it? — to  give  you  this.  Not  that  it's 
worth  much  to  the  ordinary  buyer.  Pictures  are  like 
lovers,  you  know.  Their  beauty,  sometimes,  is  in  the 
eye  of  the  beholder." 

It  sickened  her  to  hear  him  lie  in  this  way.  The 
deadly  sensation  of  falling,  falling,  falling  came  over 
her  again.  But  she  let  him  run  on.  For  one  thing 
she  lacked  the  power  to  check  him ;  and  even  had  the 
power  been  hers  it  would  have  been  worse  than  futile 
to  try  to  do  so. 


XL 

"  T  OOK  here,"  said  Adolph  Keller,  in  the  midst 
I  y  of  his  prattle.  "I've,  taken  rather  a  fancy  to 
this  bit  of  a  thing.  Suppose  you  let  me  have  it.  I'll  give 
you  a  landscape  in  exchange;  I've  one  or  two  that 
are  not  so  bad,  and  you  shall  have  your  pick.  More- 
over," and  he  fixed  June  with  a  steady  eye,  "you  shall 
have  your  sovereign  as  well." 

She  shook  her  head  tensely.  Inclination  now  wished 
to  tell  him  the  fabulous  worth  of  the  picture ;  but  pru- 
dence said  no.  The  calculated  way  in  which  he  had 
lied  was  proof  enough  that  he  knew  its  value  already. 
She  held  out  her  hand.  In  a  voice  dry  and  choking  she 
said:  "Please  give  it  to  me.  I  ought  to  be  going." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  the  eye  of  a  condor.  "Much 
better  take  what  you  can  get  for  it,  hadn't  you?  It'll 
be  a  difficult  thing  to  sell,  you  know.  This  is  quite 
a  fair  offer." 

"Give  it  me,  please,"  June  gasped  miserably. 

"Don't  be  a  little  fool" 

The  tone  was  like  the  closing  of  a  door.  She  knew 
at  once  that  he  had  not  the  remotest  intention  of  giving 
it  back  to  her.  And  what  followed  immediately  upon 
the  words  made  the  fact  only  too  clear.  He  laid  the 
picture  on  a  table  some  little  distance  away,  and  then 
pouring  out  a  quantity  of  spirit  he  drank  it  neat.  His 
next  act  was  to  produce  a  case  from  which  he  took 
forth  a  pound  note. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  said  roughly.  "Take  this  and 
222 


THE    VAN    ROON  ^223 

be  jolly  thankful.  And  then  make  yourself  scarce,  as 
soon  as  you  like." 

It  was  an  intimation  that  there  was  going  to  be  no 
more  pretence.  The  tone  was  that  of  a  cynical  bully 
who  judged  it  to  be  best  for  both  parties  that  the  owner 
of  the  Van  Roon  should  now  be  given  an  unmistakable 
perception  of  reality. 

Overdriven  as  June  was,  the  knowledge  that  at  the 
very  last  she  was  to  be  robbed  of  the  fruits  of  her  hard- 
won  victory  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Faced  by 
this  man's  cool  insolence  and  mean  cunning,  she  was 
swept  by  a  tide  of  rage.  He  knew  that  she  could  have 
no  proof  of  ownership,  and  he  was  going  to  reap  a  full 
advantage  from  the  fact.  At  that  moment,  of  an  un- 
endurable bitterness,  she  was  spurred  and  lashed  by  the 
same  Devil  which  two  hours  ago  had  driven  Uncle  Si 
to  frenzy. 

"The  picture's  mine,"  she  cried  hoarsely.  And  then, 
advancing  towards  the  table.  "Give  it  me  ...  you 
thief!" 

At  the  ugly  word  he  recoiled  a  step,  but  the  next 
instant  he  grabbed  her  by  the  wrists.  In  the  struggle 
to  get  free,  she  felt  his  evil  breath  upon  her  face. 
Many  a  dram  must  have  gone  to  so  much  foulness; 
as  his  powerful  grip  slowly  fastened  upon  her  there 
came  swift  knowledge  of  a  new  and  more  urgent  peril. 

She  was  alone  with  this  man  in  his  own  flat.  Utterly 
without  a  means  of  defence  as  she  was,  she  had  been 
mad  enough  to  offer  him  a  physical  challenge.  In  a 
few  seconds  she  would  be  at  his  mercy.  And  then,  in- 
flamed by  drink,  and  being  the  kind  of  beast  that  he 
was  he  would  insist  upon  the  spoils  of  the  victor. 


224  THE   VAN    ROON 

Before  she  was  fully  alive  to  what  was  taking  place 
she  found  herself  forced  slowly  backwards  to  the  wall. 
She  knew  then  that  she  was  fighting  for  her  life,  and 
for  that  which  in  this  unspeakable  moment  implied  so 
much  more. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  come  here,  you !"  His  face  was 

that  of  a  maniac. 

She  gave  a  shriek  of  terror  and  lashed  out  wildly  at 
his  shins.  Fighting  like  a  tigress,  at  first  she  kept  him 
at  bay.  The  power  of  his  hands  was  terrific,  but  she 
did  not  scruple  to  use  the  weapons  nature  had  given 
her.  After  a  long  and  horrible  minute  of  claws,  teeth 
and  feet,  in  the  course  of  which  she  bit  him  savagely, 
it  grew  reasonably  clear  to  Adolph  Keller  that  if  only 
she  cares  to  use  it,  the  female  of  the  species  does  not 
lack  a  means  of  defence. 

"You  beauty!"  he  gasped,  as  he  struggled  to  shift 
his  grip  upon  her. 

Goaded  by  the  furies  he  found  his  way  at  last  to  her 
throat.  And  then  she  felt  that  he  was  going  to  kill  her. 
Moreover,  as  his  madman's  grip  began  slowly  to  distil 
her  life  through  its  fingers,  he  perceived  how  simple  a 
matter  it  was  going  to  be. 


XLI 

KELLER'S  own  defences  were  almost  down,  but 
just  in  the  nick  of  time  was  he  able  to  realize 
this  fact.  And  man  of  calculation  that  he  was,  even 
in  this  moment  of  madness,  when  each  devil  in  his  soul 
conspired  for  his  final  overthrow,  he  was  able,  by  dint 
of  underlying  coolness  of  blood  to  make  a  powerful 
effort  to  save  himself. 

He  longed  to  kill  this  wretched  girl,  but  as  he  pressed 
his  fingers  into  the  soft  and  delicate  throat,  he  was 
stayed  by  thoughts  of  the  price  that  would  have  to  be 
paid  for  wreaking  an  insane  passion  upon  her. 

For  a  wild  instant  he  feared  that  the  premonition  had 
come  too  late;  the  primordial  beast  in  his  heart  had 
slipped  its  chain.  Already  it  had  tasted  blood.  In 
this  frenzy  of  revolt,  the  fetters  imposed  by  centuries 
of  civil  life  were  hardly  likely  to  be  submitted  to  again. 

Gasping  and  helpless  June  felt  that  she  was  dying. 
The  clutch  upon  her  was  that  of  the  garotte.  Her 
eyes  began  to  darken.  Clawing  the  air  for  the  breath 
she  could  not  draw,  the  end  that  seemed  inevitable 
now  was  yet  far  off. 

At  last,  as  if  responding  to  her  prayer,  a  kind  of 
stupor  came  upon  her.  But  how  tardily !  Brain,  heart, 
soul,  body  contended  no  more  against  a  power  beyond 
their  own ;  at  last  her  slow  life  was  ebbing.  The  end 
of  torment  indescribable  would  be  akin  to  joy. 

seemed  to  pass.     A  flicker  of  summer  light- 
225 


226  THE   VAN    ROON 

ning,  ages  off,  came  and  was  not.  So  faint  it  was  and 
so  far  that  it  could  only  be  reckoned  in  terms  of 
eternity.  More  light  flickered  which,  of  a  sudden,  grew 
miraculously  near.  The  vivid  sense  of  pain  returned ; 
she  grew  alive  to  the  fact  that  the  harsh  glare  of  the 
electric  bulb,  which  was  still  unshaded,  was  beating 
down  upon  her  eyes. 

Powerful  arms  were  about  her,  she  was  being  sup- 
ported. The  fumes  of  raw  spirit  were  in  her  nostrils, 
a  glass  was  pressed  against  her  lips.  She  fought  again 
to  get  free,  only  feebly  now,  for  this  was  but  a  last 
reaction  of  a  dying  will.  Yet  the  final  word  of  all 
was  nature's.  When  mind  itself  had  ceased  to  count, 
the  life-force  grasped  wildly  at  the  proffered  means  of 
life. 

"Thank  God !"  she  heard  a  thick  voice  mutter.  "I 
felt  sure  you  were  a  goner." 

A  livid  face,  whose  eyes  seemed  to  blind  her  own, 
materialized  suddenly  before  her.  "Drink  it  up,  damn 
you!"  said  the  voice  hoarsely.  "And  then  get  out — 
you !" 

It  was  insult  for  the  sake  of  insult,  and  therefore 
the  full  measure  of  her  victory.  But  it  meant  less 
than  nothing  to  June  now.  She  scarcely  heard,  or 
hearing  did  not  comprehend.  Beyond  pain  and  suffer- 
ing, beyond  good  and  evil  her  torn  spirit  only  craved 
release. 

As  soon  as  the  fire  in  the  glass  had  kindled  her  veins 
this  desire  was  met,  less,  however,  by  the  operation 
of  her  own  will  than  by  the  will  of  Keller.  As  if  she 
had  been  a  noisome  reptile  whom  his  flesh  abhorred, 
and  yet  had  a  superstitious  fear  of  killing,  he  dragged 
her  out  of  the  room,  along  the  short  passage  as  far 


THE    VAN    ROON  227 

las  the  door  of  the  flat.     Slipping  back  the  catch,  he 
flung  her  out  on  to  the  landing. 

As  she  fetched  up  against  the  iron  railing  opposite 
the  door,  which  guarded  the  well  of  the  staircase,  she 
heard  a  low  hiss:  "Take  yourself  off  as  soon  as  you 
like,  you ,  or  you'll  find  the  police  on  your  track." 


XLII 

JUNE  had  no  idea  of  the  time  that  she  lay  in  a  hud- 
dle against  the  railing.  But  it  may  not  have  been 
so  long  in  fact  as  it  was  in  experience.  Shattered  she 
might  be,  yet  unknown  to  herself,  there  was  still  a 
reserve  of  fighting  power  to  draw  upon. 

Cold  iron,  moreover,  and  raw  air  had  a  magic  of 
their  own.  Clear  of  that  mephitic  room  and  the  foul 
presence  of  Keller,  a  fine  human  machine  began  slow- 
ly to  renew  itself.  Except  for  a  faint  gleam  from 
the  room  out  of  which  she  had  just  come,  stealing 
through  the  fanlight  of  the  door  out  of  which  she  had 
been  flung,  there  was  not  a  sign  of  light  upon  the 
staircase.  The  entire  building  appeared  to  be  deserted. 
Its  stone-flagged  steps  were  full  of  echoes  as  soon  as 
she  ventured  to  move  upon  them;  and  when  clinging 
to  the  railing  for  support  she  had  painfully  descended 
two  she  entered  a  region  of  total  darkness. 

It  was  like  going  down  into  a  pit.  Could  she  have 
only  been  sure  that  death  awaited  her  below,  she  might 
have  been  tempted  to  fling  herself  into  it  headlong. 
But  she  knew  that  the  ground  was  not  far  off. 

Three  or  four  steps  more  brought  her  to  the  vesti- 
bule. At  the  end  of  it  was  a  door,  open  to  the  street. 
Outside  this  door  shone  a  faint  lamp,  round  which 
weird  shadows  circled  in  a  ghostly  witch-dance.  The 
night  beyond  was  a  wall  of  horrors,  which  she  had  lost 
the  will  to  face. 

228 


THE   VAN    ROON  229 

Met  by  this  pitiless  alternative,  she  recoiled  against 
the  wall  of  the  vestibule,  huddling  in  its  darkest  corner, 
behind  the  stairs.  Crouching  here,  like  a  hunted  thing 
at  bay,  she  fought  for  the  courage  to  go  out  and  face 
her  destiny. 

She  fought  in  vain.  Half  collapsed  as  she  now  was, 
a  spur  was  needed  to  drive  her  into  the  grim  wilderness 
of  the  open  street.  One  glance  at  the  crypt  outside 
sufficed  to  tell  her  that  with  no  point  to  make  for,  it 
would  be  best  to  stay  where  she  was  and  hope  soon 
to  die. 

Why  had  she  not  had  the  sense  to  throw  herself 
down  the  stairs  and  kill  herself  ?  A  means  would  have 
to  be  found  before  the  night  was  out.  She  could  bear 
no  more.  A  terrible  reaction  was  upon  her.  It  was 
as  if  a  private  door  in  her  mind  had  suddenly  given 
way  and  a  school  of  awful  phantoms  had  rushed  in 
and  flooded  it. 

She  was  living  in  a  nightmare  that  was  too  bad  to 
•be  true.  But  it  was  true  and  there  lay  its  terror. 
Adrift  in  the  dark  canyons  of  that  vast  city,  penniless 
and  alone,  with  the  marks  of  thieves  and  murderers 
upon  her  bruised  body,  and  her  treasure  stolen,  there 
was  only  one  thing  to  look  for  now. 

Death,  however,  would  not  be  easy  to  come  by.  As 
she  huddled  in  cold  darkness  in  the  recess  behind  the 
stairs  she  felt  that  her  will  was  going.  To  enter  the 
night  and  make  an  end  would  need  courage;  but  a 
miserable  clapping  together  of  the  jaws  was  sign 
enough  that  the  last  hope  of  all  was  slipping  away 
from  her. 


XLIII 

in  body  and  spirit  in  that  dark  cor- 
ner,  time,  for  June,  became  of  no  account.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  she  might  be  allowed  to  die  where  she 
was.  As  a  kind  of  inertia  crept  upon  her  she  was  able 
to  draw  something  of  comfort  from  the  thought.  It 
would  be  better  than  the  river  or  being  run  over  in  the 
street. 

She  grew  very  cold;  yet  a  lowering  of  the  body's 
temperature  induced  a  heightened  consciousness.  Aches 
and  pains  sprang  into  life ;  the  forces  of  her  mind  began 
to  reassert  themselves;  the  phantoms  about  her  took 
on  new  powers  of  menace.  Gradually  it  became  clear 
to  June,  under  the  goad  of  this  new  and  sharper  phase 
of  suffering,  that  mere  passivity  could  not  induce  the 
death  she  longed  for. 

No,  it  was  not  in  that  way  the  end  would  come. 
She  would  have  to  go  into  the  shadow-land  beyond  the 
lamp,  and  seek  some  positive  means  of  destroying  her- 
self. For  that  reason  she  must  hold  on  to  the  fragment 
of  will  that  now  remained  to  her.  It  alone  could  release 
her  from  the  awful  pit  in  which  she  was  now  engulfed. 

She  gathered  herself  for  an  effort  to  move  towards 
the  fog-encircled  light  at  the  entrance  to  the  street. 
But  the  effort,  when  made,  amounted  to  nothing.  Her 
limbs  were  paper,  all  power  of  volition  was  gone. 

The  October  raw  struck  to  her  blood.  She  began 
to  whimper  miserably.  To  pain  of  mind  was  added 


THE    VAN    ROON  231 

pain  of  body,  but  the  delicate  apparatus  from  whose 
harmony  sprang  the  fuse  of  action  was  out  of  gear. 
Something  must  be  done;  yet  no  matter  how  definite 
the  task,  any  form  of  doing  was  beyond  her  now. 

At  this  dire  moment,  however,  help  came.  It  came, 
moreover,  in  an  unlooked-for  way.  She  heard  a  door 
slam  over  head.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  match 
being  struck,  and  then  came  a  gingerly  shuffle  of  feet 
on  the  stone  stairs. 

Someone  was  coming  down.  June  cowered  still 
lower  into  the  dark  recess  at  the  back  of  the  stairway. 
A  man  was  approaching.  And  by  the  flicker  of  the 
match  which  he  threw  away  as  he  reached  the  floor  of 
the  vestibule  she  saw  that  the  man  was  Keller. 

Faint  and  but  momentary  as  was  the  glimpse  af- 
forded, June,  with  every  sense  strung  again  to  the  point 
of  intensity,  saw  that  under  Keller's  arm  was  a  brown 
paper  parcel.  The  sight  of  it  was  like  a  charm.  Some 
fabulous  d jinnee  might  have  lurked  in  that  neat  pack- 
age, who  commanded  a  miraculous  power  of  reaction 
upon  the  human  will. 

Keller  struck  a  second  match  and  peered  into  the 
shadows.  June  knew  that  he  was  looking  to  see  if  she 
had  lingered  there,  but  the  light  could  not  pierce  to 
the  corner  in  which  she  crouched;  and  it  burnt  itself 
out,  leaving  him  none  the  wiser. 

Without  striking  another  match  Keller  moved  away 
from  her  towards  the  doorway,  and  as  he  did  so  June 
felt  a  swift  release  of  heart  and  brain.  A  thrill  of 
new  energy  ran  through  her.  No  sooner  had  Keller 
passed  out  of  the  vestibule,  beyond  the  lamp  into  the 
fog,  than  without  conscious  impulse  or  design  she  be- 
gan to  follow  him. 


232  THE   VAN    ROON 

It  may  have  been  the  reasoned  act  of  a  lucid  being, 
but  at  first  it  did  not  appear  to  be  so.  Once,  however, 
her  limbs  were  moving,  all  her  faculties,  now  intensely 
awake,  seemed  as  if  by  magic  to  bear  them  company. 
As  soon  as  she  reached  the  open  street,  with  Keller  a 
clear  ten  yards  ahead,  the  keen  air  on  her  face  had  an 
effect  of  strong  wine.  Her  nerves  felt  again  the  sense 
of  motion;  the  impulse  of  the  natural  fighter  unfurled 
strong  pinions  within  her.  All  the  virile  sense  and  the 
indomitable  will  of  a  sound  inheritance  rallied  to  her 
need. 

Growing  sensibly  stronger  at  every  yard,  she  fol- 
lowed Keller  round  the  corner  into  Manning  Square. 
The  mist  was  thick,  the  lamps  poor  and  few,  but  as 
well  as  she  could  she  kept  on  his  track.  Lurking  pan- 
therlike  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  house-walls,  she 
had  approached  within  five  yards  of  him  by  the  time  he 
had  turned  the  corner  into  a  bye-street.  He  went  a 
few  yards  along  this,  and  then  zigzagged  into  a  squalid 
ill-smelling  thoroughfare  whose  dismal  length  seemed 
unending. 

June  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  these  twists 
and  winds,  for  Keller,  impeded  by  the  fog,  moved 
slowly.  For  her,  however,  the  fog  had  its  own  special 
problem,  since  there  was  a  danger  of  losing  him  if 
he  was  allowed  to  get  too  far  ahead;  and  yet  if  his 
steps  were  dogged  too  closely  there  was  always  the 
fear  that  he  might  turn  round  suddenly  and  see  her. 

At  last  the  interminable  street  seemed  to  be  nearing 
its  end.  For  June,  whose  every  faculty  was  now  strung 
up  to  an  unnatural  acuteness,  saw  but  a  short  distance 
in  front  the  brightly  lit  awning  of  the  Underground 
looming  through  the  fog. 


THE   VAN   ROON  233 

In  a  flash  she  realized  the  nature  of  the  peril.  Only 
too  surely  was  this  the  bourn  for  which  Keller  was 
making.  Once  within  its  precincts  and  her  last  remain- 
ing hope  would  be  gone. 

It  must  be  now  or  never.  The  spur  of  occasion 
drove  deep  in  her  heart.  She  knew  but  too  well  that 
the  hope  was  tragically  small,  but  wholly  desperate  as 
she  was,  with  the  penalty  of  failure  simply  not  to  be 
met,  she  would  put  all  to  the  touch. 

Closer  and  closer  she  crept  up  behind  the  quarry. 
But  the  entrance  to  the  Tube  loomed  now  so  near  that 
it  began  to  seem  certain  that  she  must  lose  him  before 
she  could  attempt  what  she  had  to  do.  Abruptly,  how- 
ever, within  ten  yards  or  so  of  his  goal,  Keller  stopped. 
He  began  to  search  the  pockets  of  his  overcoat  for  a 
box  of  matches  to  relight  his  pipe  which  had  gone  out. 
While  so  doing,  and  in  the  preoccupation  of  the  mo- 
ment, he  took  the  parcel  from  under  his  right  arm, 
and  set  it  rather  carelessly  beneath  his  left. 

Providence  had  given  June  her  chance.  Like  a 
falcon,  she  swooped  forward.  Aim  and  timing  in- 
credibly true,  at  the  instant  Keller  struck  a  match  and 
'bent  over  his  pipe,  her  fingers  closed  on  the  Van  Roon, 
and  whisked  it  out  of  his  unguarded  grasp. 


XLIV 

AS  June  turned  and  ran  she  heard  a  wild  and 
startled  oath.  Before  her  was  the  eternal  fog- 
laden  darkness  of  the  narrow  street.  But  now  it  struck 
her  with  a  thrill  of  pure  terror  that  the  mist  was  not 
thick  enough  to  conceal  her  flight.  The  swift  surprise 
of  the  onset  had  gained  for  her  a  start  of  a  few  yards, 
but  instantly  she  knew  that  it  would  not  suffice. 

She  ran,  all  the  same,  as  if  her  heart  would  burst. 
But  her  legs  seemed  to  wear  the  shackles  that  afflict 
one  in  a  dream.  Her  most  frantic  efforts  did  not  urge 
them  on,  and  yet,  in  spite  of  that,  they  bore  her  better 
than  she  knew.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  She  could 
hear  Keller's  boots  echo  on  the  damp  pavement  as  they 
pounded  behind  her.  It  could  only  be  a  matter  of 
seconds  before  his  fingers  were  again  on  her  throat. 
But  this  time,  before  robbing  her  of  the  Van  Roon 
and  getting  clear,  he  would  have  to  kill  her. 

The  vow  had  hardly  been  made,  when  at  the  other 
side  of  the  street  she  saw  a  thread  of  light.  It  came 
from  a  house  whose  door  was  open.  Instinctively  she 
turned  and  made  one  final  dash  for  it.  This  was  the 
last  wild  hope  there  was. 

A  man,  it  seemed,  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  house. 
Wearing  overcoat  and  hat,  he  stood  just  within  the 
doorway  peering  into  the  murk  before  venturing  out. 
June  flung  herself  literally  upon  him. 
234 


THE   VAN    ROON  235 

"Save  me !  Save  me !"  she  was  able  to  gasp.  "A 
man !  A  man  is  after  me !" 

The  house  was  of  the  poverty-stricken  kind  whose 
living  room  opens  on  to  the  street.  June  had  a  con- 
fused vision  of  a  glowing  lamp,  a  bright  fire,  a  dingy 
tablecloth  and  several  people  seated  around  it.  Her 
wild  impact  upon  the  man  who  was  about  to  put  off 
from  its  threshold  drove  him  backwards  several  paces 
into  the  room.  At  the  same  instant  a  female  voice, 
loud  and  imperious,  rose  from  the  table. 

"Shut  the  door,  Elbert,  can't  yer  ?  The  fog's  comin' 
in  that  thick  it'll  put  out  the  perishin'  fire." 

The  bewildered  Elbert,  raked  fore  and  aft  by  fierce 
women,  automatically  obeyed  the  truculent  voice  at 
his  back,  even  while  he  gave  ground  in  a  collision  which 
seemed  to  rob  him  of  any  wit  that  he  might  possess. 
With  a  deft  turn  of  the  heel,  he  dealt  the  door  a  kick 
which  effectually  closed  it  in  the  murderous  face  of 
the  halting  and  hesitating  Keller. 

June,  shuddering  in  every  vein,  clung  to  her  pro- 
tector. 

"Gawd-love-us-all !"  Cries  and  commotion  arose  from 
the  table,  yet  almost  at  once  the  imperious  voice  soared 
above  the  din.  "Set  her  down,  can't  yer,  Elbert? 
Didn't  yer  see  that  bloke?" 

"Ah — I  did,"  said  Elbert,  stolidly  pressing  his  queer 
armful  into  a  chair  near  the  fire. 

"Better  git  after  him  lively,"  said  the  voice  at  the 
table.  "He's  the  one  as  did  in  Kitty  Lewis  last  week." 

Elbert,  a  young  man  six  feet  tall  and  proportionately 
broad  of  shoulder,  was  not  however  a  squire  of  dames. 
With  a  scared  look  on  a  face  that  even  in  circumstances 
entirely  favourable  could  hardly  rank  as  a  thing  of 


236  THE   VAN    ROON 

beauty,  he  moved  to  the  door  and  slipped  a  bolt  across. 

"Not  goin'  near  the "  he  said,  sullenly.  "Not 

goin'  to  be  mixed  up  wiv  it — not  me." 

The  voice  at  the  table,  whose  owner  was  addressed 
as  Maw,  proceeded  "to  tell  off"  Elbert.  He  was  a 
skunk,  he  was  no  man,  he  was  a  mean  swine.  In  the 
sight  of  Maw,  who  ran  to  words  as  well  as  flesh,  Elbert 
was  all  this  and  more.  She  rose  majestically,  threaten- 
ing to  "dot  him"  if  he  didn't "  'op  in,"  and  she  came 
to  June  with  an  enormous  bosom  striving  to  burst 
from  its  anchorage,  an  apron  that  had  once  been  white, 
and  with  her  entire  person  exuding  an  odour  peculiar 
to  those  of  her  sex  who  drink  gin  out  of  a  teacup. 

Three  other  people  were  at  the  table,  and  they  were 
engaged  upon  a  meal  of  toasted  cheese,  raw  onions  and 
beer.  Of  these,  two  were  girls  about  sixteen,  scared, 
slatternly  and  anaemic;  the  third  was  a  toothless  hag 
who  looked  ninety;  and  as  the  whole  family,  headed 
by  Maw,  suddenly  crowded  round  June,  the  terrified 
fugitive,  shuddering  in  the  chair  by  the  fire,  hardly 
knew  which  of  her  deliverers  was  the  most  repulsive. 

June  fought  with  every  bit  of  her  strength  against 
the  threat  of  total  collapse  that  assailed  her  now.  In 
the  desperate  hope  of  warding  off  disaster,  she  gathered 
the  last  broken  fragment  of  will.  But  nature  had 
been  driven  too  hard.  For  the  second  time  within  the 
space  of  one  terrible  hour,  she  lost  the  sense  of  where 
she  was. 


XLV 

THE  faces,  with  one  exception,  had  receded  into 
the  background,  when  June  returned  slowly  and 
painfully  to  a  knowledge  of  what  was  happening.  Maw 
was  bending  over  her,  and  holding  a  cracked  cup  to 
her  lips,  and  also  "telling  off"  the  others  with  a  force 
and  a  scope  of  language  that  added  not  a  little  to 
June's  fear. 

Perhaps  the  smell  of  its  contents  had  quite  as  much 
effect  upon  the  sufferer  as  the  cup's  restorative  powers. 
It  was  so  distasteful  to  one  who  had  been  taught  to 
shun  all  forms  of  alcohol,  that  a  sheer  disgust  helped 
to  bring  her  round. 

At  first,  however,  her  mind  was  hardly  more  than 
a  blank.  But  when,  at  last,  a  few  links  of  recognition 
floated  up  into  it  out  of  the  immediate  past  and  hitched 
themselves  to  this  strange  present,  a  shock  of  new 
terror  nearly  overwhelmed  her  again.  Recollection 
was  like  a  knife  stab.  The  Van  Roon!  The  Van 
Roon!  Where  was  it?  Oh,  God — if  she  had  not  got 
it  after  all ! 

The  thought  was  pain,  pure  and  exquisite.  But  the 
case  did  not  really  call  for  it.  She  was  clutching  the 
Van  Roon  convulsively  to  her  breast  like  a  child  holds 
a  doll.  As  she  wakened  slowly  to  this  fact  her  brain 
wonderfully  cleared. 

The  mind  must  be  kept  alive,  if  only  to  defend  this 
talisman  for  whose  sake  she  had  already  suffered  so 
237 


238  THE   VAN   ROON 

outrageously.  She  did  not  know  where  she  was,  and 
the  evil  presence  holding  the  foul  cup  to  her  lips,  and 
those  other  evil  presences  filling  the  background  beyond 
gave  her  an  intense  apprehension. 

Maw,  however,  in  spite  of  a  general  air  of  obscenity, 
meant  well.  It  was  not  easy  for  this  fact  to  declare 
itself  through  that  loud  voice  and  ruthless  mien;  but 
gradually  it  began  to  percolate  to  June's  violated 
nerves,  and  so  gave  her  a  fleck  of  courage  to  hold  on 
to  that  sense  of  identity  which  still  threatened  at  the 
first  moment  again  to  desert  her. 

"Where  was  you  goin',  deery  ?" 

Rude  the  tone,  but  when  June's  ear  disentangled  the 
words,  she  was  able  to  appreciate  that  they  were  spoken 
in  the  way  of  kindness.  But  if  the  knowledge  brought 
a  spark  of  comfort  it  was  quickly  dowsed.  Where  was 
she  going?  To  that  grim  question  there  was  no  possi- 
ble answer. 

"Scared  out  of  her  life,  poor  lamb!"  said  Maw. 
With  furtive  truculence  she  announced  the  fact  to  the 
rather  awed  spectators  who  gathered  once  more  about 
the  sufferer. 

"Where  you  come  from  ?" 

June's  only  answer  was  a  shiver.  The  frozen  silence 
was  so  full  of  the  uncanny  that  Maw  shook  her  own 
head  dismally  and  tapped  it  with  a  grimy  finger. 

In  the  view  of  Maw,  for  such  a  calamity  there  was 
only  one  remedy.  Once  more  the  cup  was  pressed  to 
June's  lips ;  once  more  it  was  resisted,  this  time  with  a 
hint  of  fierceness  reassuring  to  the  onlookers,  inasmuch 
that  it  implied  a  return  of  life. 

"Looks  respectable,"  said  the  cracked  voice  of  the 
crone,  who  was  now  at  Maw's  elbow. 


THE    VAN    ROON  239 

"Where  was  you  goin'  ?"  demanded  Maw  again. 

June  was  beyond  tears,  or  she  would  have  shed 
them.  Now  that  the  facts  of  the  situation  in  all  their 
hopelessness  were  streaming  back  to  her,  a  feeling  of 
sheer  impotence  kept  her  dumb. 

"Off  her  rocker,"  said  Elbert  gloomily. 


XLVI 

AMID  the  silence  which  followed  Elbert's  remark, 
June  fought  hard  to  cast  her  weakness  off.  She 
wanted  no  longer  to  die.  The  recovery  of  the  talisman 
inhibited,  at  least  for  the  time  being,  that  desire. 
Acutely  aware  that  the  Van  Roon  was  still  miraculous- 
ly hers,  she  felt  that  come  what  might  she  must  go  on. 

But  her  position  was  hopeless  indeed.  She  dare  not 
venture  out  of  doors,  with  a  murderous  thief  waiting 
to  spring  upon  her.  And  if  venture  she  did,  there 
was  nowhere  she  could  go.  Besides,  had  there  been 
any  place  of  refuge  for  such  a  weary  bundle  of  fright- 
ened misery,  without  money  and  with  a  sorry  ignorance 
of  the  fog-bound  maze  of  bricks  and  mortar  in  which 
she  was  now  lost,  there  would  have  been  no  means  of 
getting  to  her  destination. 

At  the  same  time,  she  had  no  wish  to  stay  with  these 
uncouth,  ill-looking,  evil-smelling  people  one  moment 
longer  than  was  necessary.  In  a  curiously  intimate 
way  she  was  reminded  of  that  grim  story  Oliver  Twist, 
which  had  so  powerfully  haunted  her  youth.  To  her 
distorted  mind,  this  squalid  interior  was  a  veritable 
thieves'  kitchen,  the  crone  a  female  Fagin,  the  angel 
of  the  cup,  a  counterpart  of  Bill  Sikes,  and  the  gloomy, 
beetle-browed  Elbert  a  kind  of  Artful  Dodger  grown 
up.  She  and  her  treasure  could  never  be  safe  in  such 
a  place,  yet  at  the  other  side  of  the  door  nameless 
horrors  awaited  her. 

240 


THE   VAN   ROON  241 

In  June's  present  state  it  was  far  beyond  her  power 
to  cope  with  so  dire  a  problem.  Keeping  a  stony 
silence  as  those  faces,  devoured  by  curiosity,  pressed 
ever  closer  upon  her,  she  half  surrendered  to  her 
weakness  again. 

Amid  the  new  waves  of  misery  which  threatened 
to  submerge  her,  she  was  wrenched  fiercely  back  to 
sensibility.  The  Van  Roon  was  torn  by  a  strong 
hand  from  her  grasp.  As  if  a  spring  had  been  pressed 
in  her  heart  she  rose  with  a  little  cry.  Maw  was  in 
the  act  of  handing  the  picture  to  Elbert.  "There's  a 
label  on  it,  ain't  there?"  she  said. 

Still  half  stupefied,  June  clung  to  the  table  for  sup- 
port, while  Elbert,  who  was  evidently  the  family 
scholar,  read  out  slowly  the  name  and  address  that 
was  written  upon  the  parcel:  "Miss  Babraham,  39b 
Park  Lane,  W." 

June  was  hardly  in  a  state  just  then  to  grasp  the 
significance  of  the  words.  Her  mind  was  wholly  given 
up  to  concern  for  the  treasure  which  had  passed  to  alien 
hands.  And  yet  the  words  had  significance,  even  for 
her,  as  the  mind-process  they  induced  soon  began  to 
reveal. 

A  locked  door  of  memory,  of  which  she  had  lost 
the  key,  seemed  to  glide  back.  Thoughts  of  William, 
of  his  friend,  the  tall,  beautiful  and  distinguished 
wearer  of  the  blue  crepe  de  chine,  and  of  Sir  Arthur, 
her  father,  came  crowding  into  her  brain.  And  with 
them  came  a  perceptible  easing  of  spirit,  as  if  they 
had  been  sped  by  the  kindly  hand  of  that  Providence, 
of  whom  she  had  never  been  so  much  in  need. 

The  recognition  of  this  acted  upon  her  like  a  charm. 
Girt  by  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  alone  in  the 


242  THE   VAN    ROON 

world  after  all,  and  that  friends  might  be  at  hand  if 
only  she  could  reach  out  to  them,  her  mind  began  once 
more  to  function. 

Even  while  Maw  and  Elbert  were  occupying  them- 
selves with  the  parcel's  address  and  its  specific  impor- 
tance, June  was  fain  to  inquire  of  an  awaking  self 
how  such  magic  words  came  to  be  there  at  such  a 
moment.  Casting  back  to  recent  events,  over  which 
oblivion  had  swept,  she  was  able  to  recall  certain 
strands  in  the  subtle  woof  of  Fate.  Days  ago,  years 
they  seemed  now,  Miss  Babraham  had  sent  to  William 
a  picture  frame  to  be  restored.  The  stout  brown  paper 
in  which  it  had  been  wrapped  appealed  to  June's  thrifty 
soul,  and  she  had  stowed  it  away  in  her  box  for  use 
on  a  future  occasion.  Her  mind's  new,  almost  danger- 
ous clarity,  enabled  her  to  remember  that  upon  the 
paper's  inner  side  was  an  old  Sotheran,  Bookseller, 
Piccadilly  label  which  bore  the  name  and  address  of 
Miss  Babraham. 

The  piecing  together  of  this  slender  chain  gave  June 
the  thing  she  needed  most.  At  this  signal  manifesta- 
tion of  what  Providence  could  do,  hope  revived  in  her. 
If  only  she  could  get  to  Park  Lane — wherever  Park 
Lane  might  be! — to  Miss  Babraham. 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  half-formed  wish,  Maw's 
dominant  voice  took  up  the  parable.  "Elbert,  you'd 
better  see  this  lidy  as  fur  as  Park  Lane." 


XLVII 

ELBERT  did  not  welcome  the  prospect  with  open 
arms.  Nature  had  not  designed  him  for  such  a 
task.  All  the  same,  Maw  was  imaged  clearly  in  his 
mind  as  one  whose  word  was  law. 

At  the  best  of  times,  Elbert's  obedience  to  that  word 
was  apt  to  be  grudging.  And  to-night,  with  murder 
lurking  outside  in  the  darkness,  he  was  full  of  a  dis- 
gusted reluctance  at  having  to  face  such  a  prospect. 
Even  in  circumstances  wholly  favourable  to  it,  the 
countenance  of  Elbert  was  not  attractive;  to  June  at 
this  moment  it  was  very  much  the  reverse.  She  felt 
that  its  owner  was  not  to  be  trusted  an  inch. 

Meanwhile  her  mind  was  growing  very  active.  Miss 
Babraham's  name  and  address,  that  magic  omen,  was 
like  an  elixir;  it  quickened  the  blood,  it  strengthened 
the  soul.  If  only  she  could  bear  her  treasure  to  Park 
Lane  all  might  yet  be  well ! 

Urged  by  this  spur,  native  wit  sprang  to  her  aid. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  clear  of  present 
company.  She  was  haunted  still  by  the  likeness  to 
Fagin's  kitchen ;  but  also  there  was  a  recollection  of  the 
fact  that  a  Tube  Station  was  only  a  few  yards  along 
the  street.  That  was  the  haven  wherein  salvation  lay. 

Pressing  hard  upon  the  hope,  however,  was  the  dis- 
mal knowledge  that  only  one  penny  remained  in  her 
pocket.  This  sum  could  not  take  her  to  Park  Lane, 
unless  that  Elysium  was  close  at  hand.  Alas,  it  was 
243 


244  THE   VAN   ROON 

not  at  all  likely.  Her  ignorance  of  London  was  so  great, 
moreover,  that  she  would  need  help  to  find  her  way 
there;  and  in  the  process  of  obtaining  it  in  her  present 
state  of  weakness  she  might  be  caught  by  new  perils. 
For  it  was  only  too  likely  that  Keller  was  lurking  out- 
side in  the  fog,  waiting  to  spring  upon  her  and  tear 
the  Van  Roon  from  her  grasp  at  the  first  chance  that 
arose. 

Beset  by  such  problems,  June  felt  that  she  was  be- 
tween the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  Perhaps  the  best 
thing  she  could  do  was  to  dash  along  the  street  to  the 
Tube,  and  then  put  herself  in  the  hands  of  the  nearest 
policeman.  But  even  to  attempt  such  a  feat  was  to 
run  a  grave  risk. 

Elbert,  in  the  meantime,  scowling  and  disgruntled, 
was  bracing  himself  under  further  pressure  from  Maw 
to  brave  the  perils  of  the  night.  June  felt,  however, 
that  it  would  be  wise  not  to  saddle  herself  with  this 
reluctant  champion  if  it  could  be  avoided.  To  this 
end,  she  was  now  able  to  pluck  up  the  spirit  to  ask  what 
was  the  best  means  of  getting  to  Park  Lane. 

Maw  did  not  know,  but  Elbert  when  appealed  to 
said  that  she  could  take  the  Tube  to  Marble  Arch,  or 
she  might  turn  the  corner  at  the  end  of  the  street  and 
pick  up  a  bus  in  Tottenham  Court  Road. 

How  much  was  the  fare?  Twopence,  Elbert 
thought.  Alas,  June  had  only  a  penny.  She  was  pain- 
fully shy  about  confessing  this  difficulty,  but  there  was 
no  help  for  it. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Miss.  Elbert  is  goin'  to  see 
you  all  the  way."  And  Maw  fixed  a  savage  eye  upon 
her  son. 

Much  as  June  would  have  preferred  to  forego  the 


THE   VAN    ROON  245 

services  of  this  paladin,  Maw's  ferocious  glance  settled 
the  matter  finally. 

"And  you'll  carry  the  pawcel  for  the  lidy,"  said 
Maw,  as  Elbert,  scowling  more  darkly  than  ever  turned 
up  the  collar  of  his  overcoat 


XLVIII 

THE  Van  Roon,  at  that  moment,  was  in  the  hand 
of  Maw.  And  although  June  was  on  fire  to 
get  it  back,  her  natural  faculties  had  the  authority  to 
tell  her  that  undue  eagerness  would  be  most  unwise. 
She  must  be  content  to  await  her  chance,  yet  there 
was  no  saying  when  that  chance  would  come;  for 
Maw  was  careful  to  hand  personally  the  parcel  to 
Elbert. 

Before  June  set  out  on  her  journey  one  of  the  girls 
pressed  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  family  brew  upon  her. 
It  was  lukewarm  and  thrice-stewed,  but  June  was  able 
to  drink  a  little  and  to  feel  the  better  for  it.  She  was 
in  a  high  state  of  tension,  all  the  same,  when  Elbert 
opened  the  street  door,  her  treasure  under  his  arm, 
and  she  followed  close  behind  him  into  the  darkness. 

Surely  Keller  must  be  out  there  in  the  fog,  waiting 
to  attack  them.  Her  heart  beat  wildly  as  she  marched 
side  by  side  with  Elbert  along  the  street  towards  the 
Tube.  Distrust  of  her  cavalier  was  great.  Should  he 
guess  the  value  of  the  thing  he  bore,  as  likely  as  not 
he  would  play  her  a  trick.  But  for  the  moment,  at  any 
rate,  this  fear  was  merged  in  the  sharper  one  of  what 
was  concealed  by  the  fantastic  shadow  shapes  of  that 
dark  thoroughfare.  Less  than  a  hundred  yards  away, 
however,  was  the  Tube  Station.  And  to  June's  un- 
speakable relief  they  gained  its  light  and  publicity  with- 
out misadventure.  Here,  moreover,  was  her  chance. 
246 


THE   VAN   ROON  247 

While  Elbert  searched  his  pockets  for  fourpence  to 
purchase  two  tickets  for  Marble  Arch,  she  insisted  on 
relieving  him  of  the  parcel.  Once  restored  to  her  care, 
she  clung  to  it  so  tenaciously  that  the  puzzled  Elbert 
had  reluctantly  to  give  up  the  hope  of  getting  it  back 
again. 

(jtoing  down  in  the  lift  to  the  trains,  with  the  surge 
of  fellow  passengers  guaranteeing  a  measure  of  safety, 
June  allowed  herself  to  conclude  that  Elbert,  after  all, 
might  be  less  of  a  ruffian  than  he  looked.  If  he  had 
no  graces  of  mind  or  mansion,  he  was  yet  not  without 
a  sort  of  rude  care  for  her  welfare.  By  no  wish  of 
his  own  was  he  seeing  a  distressed  damsel  to  her  home, 
yet  the  process  of  doing  so,  once  he  grew  involved  in 
it,  seemed  to  minister  in  some  degree  to  a  latent  sense 
of  chivalry.  At  all  events  he  had  a  scowl  for  anyone 
whose  elbows  came  too  near  his  charge. 

Arriving  at  Marble  Arch  in  due  course,  the  heroic 
Elbert  piloted  the  fugitive  out  of  the  station  and  across 
the  road  into  Park  Lane.  Here,  under  a  street  lamp, 
they  paused  a  moment  to  examine  the  label  on  the  par- 
cel for  the  number  of  the  house  they  sought.  Thirty- 
nine  was  the  number,  and  it  proved  to  be  not  the  least 
imposing  home  in  that  plutocratic  thoroughfare. 

Elbert  accompanied  June  as  far  as  its  doorstep.  Be- 
fore ringing  the  bell  she  said  good-bye  to  her  escort 
with  all  the  gratitude  she  could  muster,  begging  him 
to  give  her  his  name  and  address,  so  that  she  might  at 
least  restore  to  him  the  price  of  her  fare.  Yet  the 
squire  of  dames  saw  no  necessity  for  this.  His  scowl 
was  softened  a  little  by  her  thanks,  but  his  only  answer 
was  to  press  the  electric  button  and  then,  without  a 
word,  to  slink  abruptly  away  into  the  fog. 


XLIX 

JUNE  felt  a  wild  excitement,  as  she  stood  waiting 
for  the  answer  to  her  ring.  The  stress  of  events 
had  buoyed  her  up,  but  with  Elbert  no  longer  at  her 
side  and  the  door  of  a  strange  house  confronting  her, 
trolls  were  loose  once  more  in  her  brain.  A  fresh 
wave  of  panic  surged  through  her,  and  again  she  feared 
that  she  was  going  to  faint. 

The  prompt  opening  of  the  door  by  a  gravely  digni- 
fied manservant  acted  as  a  strong  restorative.  June 
mustered  the  force  of  will  to  ask  if  she  could  see  Miss 
Babraham.  Such  a  request,  made  in  a  nervous  and 
excited  manner,  gave  pause  to  the  footman,  who  at 
first  could  not  bring  himself  to  invite  her  into  the  large 
dimly  lighted  hall.  Finally  he  did  so ;  closed  the  door 
against  the  fog,  and  then  asked  her  name  with  an  air 
of  profound  disapproval,  which  at  any  other  time  must 
have  proved  highly  embarrassing. 

"I'm  Miss  Gedge,"  said  June.  "From  the  second- 
hand shop  in  New  Cross  Street.  Miss  Babraham'll 
remember  me." 

The  servant  slowly  repeated  the  fragmentary  words 
in  a  low  voice  of  cutting  emphasis.  "I'm  afraid,"  he 
said,  while  his  eye  descended  to  June's  shoes  and  up 
again,  "Miss  Babraham  will  not  be  able  to  see  you  to- 
night. However,  I'll  inquire." 

Superciliously  the  footman  crossed  the  hall,  to  dis- 
248 


THE   VAN   ROON  249 

cuss  the  matter  with  an  unseen  presence  in  its  farthest 
shadows.  The  conference  was  brief  but  unsatisfac- 
tory, for  a  moment  later  the  unseen  presence  slowly 
materialized  into  the  august  shape  of  a  butler,  who 
seemed  at  once  to  diminish  the  footman  into  a  relative 
nothingness. 

"Perhaps  you'll  let  me  know  your  business,"  said 
the  butler,  in  a  tone  which  implied  that  she  could  have 
no  business,  at  any  rate  with  Miss  Babraham,  at  such 
an  hour. 

June,  alas,  could  not  explain  the  nature  of  her 
errand.  These  two  men  were  so  imposing,  so  unsym- 
pathetic, so  harsh,  so  frightening  that  had  life  itself 
depended  upon  her  answers,  and  in  quite  a  special 
degree  she  now  felt  that  it  did,  she  was  yet  unequal  to 
the  task  of  making  them  effective. 

"Miss  Babraham  cannot  see  you  now,"  said  the  slow- 
voiced  butler,  with  an  air  of  terrible  finality. 

"But  I  must  see  her.  I  simply  must,"  wildly  per- 
sisted June. 

"It's  impossible  to  see  her  now,"  said  the  butler. 

The  words  caused  June  to  stagger  back  against  the 
wall.  In  answer  to  her  tragic  eyes,  the  butler  said 
reluctantly:  "You  had  better  call  again  some  time  to- 
morrow, and  I'll  send  in  your  name." 

"I — I  must  see  her  now,"  June  gasped  wildly. 

The  butler  was  adamant.  "You  can't  possibly  see 
her  to-night."  I 

"Why  can't  I  ?"  said  June,  desperately. 

"She  is  going  to  a  ball." 

The  words  were  like  a  blow.  A  vista  of  the  fog 
outside  and  of  herself  wandering  with  her  precious 
burden  all  night  long  in  it  homeless,  penniless,  desolate, 


250  THE   VAN    ROON 

came  upon  her  with  unnerving  force.  "But — please ! — 
I  must  see  her  to-night,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder  of 
misery. 

Faced  by  the  butler's  pitiless  air,  June  felt  her  slen- 
der hope  to  be  ebbing  away.  She  would  be  turned 
adrift  in  the  night.  And  what  would  happen  to  her 
then?  She  could  not  walk  the  streets  till  daybreak 
with  the  Van  Roon  under  her  arm.  Already  she  had 
reached  the  limit  of  endurance.  The  dark  haze  before 
her  eyes  bore  witness  to  the  fact  that  her  strength  was 
almost  gone.  No  matter  what  the  attitude  of  the  butler 
towards  her  she  must  not  think  of  quitting  this  place 
of  refuge  unless  she  was  flung  out  bodily,  for  her  trials 
here  were  nought  by  comparison  with  those  awaiting 
her  outside. 

June's  defiance  was  very  puzzling  to  the  stern  func- 
tionary who  quite  plainly  was  at  a  loss  how  to  deal 
with  it.  But  in  the  midst  of  these  uncertainties  the 
problem  was  unexpectedly  solved  for  him.  A  glamour 
of  white  satin,  jewels  and  fur  appeared  on  the  broad 
staircase.  Miss  Babraham  descended  slowly. 

Once  more  was  June  upheld  by  a  sense  of  Providence. 
Hope  flickered  again,  a  painful,  fluctuating  gleam.  She 
sprang  forward  to  intercept  this  vision  of  pure  beauty, 
wildly  calling  the  name  "Miss  Babraham!  Miss  Ba- 
braham!" 

The  dazzling  creature  was  startled  out  of  her  glow- 
ing self-possession:  "Why,  who  are  you?"  she  cried. 

In  a  gush  of  strange  words,  June  strove  to  make 
clear  that  she  was  the  girl  from  the  antique  shop  in 
New  Cross  Street,  and  that  her  uncle,  its  proprietor, 
was  a  very  wicked  old  man  who  was  trying  to  steal  a 
valuable  picture  that  had  been  given  to  her.  She 


THE   VAN    ROON  251 

pressed  the  Van  Roon  upon  the  astonished  Miss  Babra- 
ham  and  besought  her  to  take  care  of  it. 

After  that,  June  had  only  a  very  dim  idea  of  what 
happened.  She  found  herself  in  a  sort  of  anteroom 
without  knowing  how  she  got  there,  with  faces  of  a 
surprised  curiosity  around  her.  Foremost  of  these  was 
the  lovely  Miss  Babraham,  a  thing  of  sheer  beauty  in 
her  ball-dress,  who  asked  questions  to  which  June  could 
only  give  confused  replies,  and  issued  orders  that  she 
was  not  able  to  follow. 

Everything  began  to  grow  more  and  more  like  a 
wild  and  terrible  dream.  Other  people  appeared  on  the 
scene,  among  whom  June  was  just  able  to  recognize  the 
tall  form  of  Sir  Arthur  Babraham.  By  then,  however 
she  no  longer  knew  what  she  was  doing  or  saying,  for 
deep  blanks  were  invading  her  consciousness ;  even  the 
treasure  in  which  her  very  soul  was  merged  had  some- 
how slipped  from  her  mental  grasp,  and  like  everything 
else  had  ceased  to  have  significance. 


AT  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Sir  Arthur 
Babraham,  looking  worried  and  distrait,  was 
pretending  to  read  the  "Times."  If  ever  a  man  could 
be  said  to  have  "been  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his 
mouth"  it  was  this  soft-voiced,  easy-mannered,  kindly 
gentleman.  The  rubs  of  a  hard  world  had  hardly 
touched  his  unflawed  surfaces.  He  sat  on  committees, 
it  was  true,  and  played  Providence  at  third  or  fourth 
hand  to  less  happily  situated  mortals;  yet  scarcely,  if 
at  all,  had  he  been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  stark 
realities  of  life. 

It  is  never  too  late,  however,  for  some  new  thing 
to  occur.  The  previous  evening  an  experience  had 
happened  to  this  worthy  man;  and  he  could  not  rid 
his  mind  of  the  fact  that  it  was  disconcerting.  On  a 
table  at  his  elbow  was  a  picture  without  a  frame,  and 
more  than  once  his  eyes  strayed  from  the  newspaper 
to  this  object,  which  at  a  first  glance  was  so  insignifi- 
cant, and  yet  as  if  cursed  with  an  "obi"  it  had  the 
power  to  dominate  him  completely. 

In  the  midst  of  this  preoccupation,  Laura  Babra- 
ham entered  the  room.  She  had  returned  late  from 
the  dance,  and  this  was  her  first  appearance  that  morn- 
ing. Hardly  had  she  saluted  her  father  when  her  eye 
also  fell  on  the  picture,  and  a  look  of  deep  anxiety 
came  into  her  eyes. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  from  the  hospital?"  she 
asked  eagerly. 

252 


THE    VAN    ROON  253 

"I  rang  them  up  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Sir  Arthur. 
"The  girl  is  very  ill  indeed.  I  gather  from  the  tone  of 
the  person  with  whom  I  talked  that  the  case  is  pretty 
serious." 

"Yes,"  said  Laura  Babraham,  in  a  low  voice.  "One 
felt  sure  of  that.  Never  again  do  I  want  to  see  a 
human  creature  in  the  state  that  poor  thing  was  in  last 
night.  I've  been  haunted  by  her  ever  since." 

"Pretty  bad,  I  must  say."  Sir  Arthur  plucked 
sharply  at  his  moustache.  "According  to  the  Hospital, 
she's  been  knocked  about  and  generally  ill-used.  There 
are  marks  on  her  throat,  and  they  want  my  opinion 
as  to  whether  they  should  communicate  with  the 
police." 

"What  do  you  advise,  papa?"  said  Laura,  with  a 
growing  concern. 

"One  doesn't  know  what  to  advise."  Sir  Arthur's 
moustache  continued  to  receive  harsh  treatment.  "We 
are  faced  with  rather  a  problem,  it  seems  to  me." 

"You  mean  that  it  will  be  a  matter  for  the  police 
if  she  doesn't  get  better?" 

"Yes,  certainly  that  And  it  may  be  a  matter  for 
the  police  if  she  does  get  better." 

Laura  Babraham  agreed ;  yet  even  then  she  did  not 
see  the  problem  in  its  full  complexity.  Sir  Arthur, 
taking  the  first  step  towards  her  enlightenment,  pointed 
to  the  Van  Roon:  "My  dear,  beyond  any  doubt  that 
is  a  most  precious  thing.  And,  ignoring  for  the  mo* 
ment  the  state  in  which  this  young  woman  turned  up 
last  night,  the  question  we  have  to  ask  ourselves  is: 
What  is  she  doing  with  it  at  all?  And  why  was  she 
ranging  the  streets  alone,  in  the  fog,  at  that  hour?" 

"From  what  one  gathered,"  said  Laura,  "the  picture 


254  THE   VAN    ROON 

is  her's,  and  her  uncle,  the  old  curio  man  in  New  Cross 
Street,  with  whom  she  lives,  is  determined  to  steal  it." 

"Quite.  That's  her  story,  as  far  as  one  can  get 
at  it.  But  I  put  it  to  you,  isn't  it  far  more  likely — 
prima  facie  at  any  rate — that  the  girl  is  trying  to  steal 
it  from  the  old  dealer?" 

"I  believe  the  poor  thing  is  speaking  the  truth,"  said 
Woman  in  the  person  of  Miss  Laura  Babraham. 

"You  mean,  my  dear,"  said  her  logical  parent,  with 
a  sad  little  smile,  "that  you  hope  she  is  speaking  the 
truth.  With  all  my  heart  I  hope  so,  too,  even  if  it 
proves  this  old  man — Gedge  you  say  his  name  is — to  be 
a  terrible  scoundrel.  One  of  them  certainly  is  not 
playing  straight — but  prima  facie,  as  I  say — if  we  call 
in  the  police,  it  is  almost  certain  that  it  is  this  wretched 
girl  who  will  find  herself  in  prison." 

"There  I  don't  agree,  papa,"  said  Woman  staunch- 
ly. "The  poor  thing  says  that  William  the  assistant 
gave  her  the  picture ;  and  in  all  the  dealings  I  have  had 
with  William  in  the  course  of  the  past  year,  he  has 
been  honesty  itself." 

Her  father  shook  his  head  gently.  "All  very  well, 
but  Master  William  is  the  part  of  the  story  I  like  least. 
Is  it  probable,  in  the  first  place,  that  a  young  man  who 
almost  Certainly  has  no  money  of  his  own,  would  be 
able  to  get  possession  of  such  a  thing ;  and,  again,  as- 
suming him  to  be  clever  enough  to  do  so,  is  he  going  to 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  give  it  away  to  this  girl?  Let  us 
look  all  the  facts  in  the  face.  To  my  mind,  the  more 
one  thinks  of  it  the  more  inevitable  the  plain  solu- 
tion is." 

"I'm  absolutely  convinced  that  William,  at  any  rate, 
is  honest." 


THE   VAN    ROON  255 

Sir  Arthur  frowned  and  opened  his  cigar  case.  "And 
I  for  my  part  am  convinced,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  as 
he  cut  off  the  end  of  a  Corona,  "that  our  friend 
William  is  a  cunning  scoundrel,  who  has  been  deep 
enough  to  get  this  young  woman  to  do  the  dirty  work 
and  run  all  the  risks,  because  he  must  know  as  well  as 
anybody  that  a  great  deal  of  money  is  at  stake." 

Laura  Babraham  had  a  considerable  respect  for  her 
father's  judgment,  yet  she  knew  the  value  of  her  own. 
She  did  not  think  it  was  possible  to  be  so  deceived; 
her  dealings  with  William  had  left  her  with  the  highest 
regard  for  his  straightforwardness;  if  he  proved  to 
be  the  despicable  creature  Sir  Arthur's  fancy  painted 
him,  never  again  would  she  be  able  to  hold  an  opinion 
about  anyone.  Yet  her  father's  analysis  of  the  case, 
as  it  presented  itself  to  her  clear  mind,  left  her  on  the 
horns  of  a  dilemma.  Either  this  young  man  was  a 
fool,  or  he  was  a  rogue.  Beset  by  two  evils,  she  chose 
without  hesitation  that  which  to  the  feminine  mind 
appeared  the  less. 

"He's  always  struck  one  as  rather  simple  in  some 
ways  and  too  much  under  the  thumb  of  the  old  dealer, 
yet  he's  really  very  clever." 

Sir  Arthur  drew  mental  energy  from  his  Corona. 
"Not  clever  enough  to  keep  honest,  my  dear." 

"Please  don't  prejudge  him.  That  wicked  old  man 
is  at  the  back  of  all." 

"Well,  that  is  just  what  we  have  now  to  find  out." 

Laura  assented;  yet  then  arose  the  question  as  to 
the  means  by  which  the  truth  could  be  won.  It  was 
likely  to  resolve  itself  into  an  affair  of  William's  word 
against  the  word  of  his  master.  Whoever  could  tell 
the  more  plausible  tale  would  be  believed;  and  Will- 


256  THE   VAN    ROON 

iam's  friend  saw  from  the  outset  that  Circumstance 
had  already  weighted  the  scales  heavily  against  him. 
On  the  face  of  it,  the  story  as  disclosed  by  the  poor 
girl  who  was  now  in  the  Hospital,  was  frankly  in- 
credible. 

Recollection  of  the  pitiful  scene  of  the  previous  night 
brought  to  Laura  Babraham's  mind  her  own  urgent 
duty  in  the  matter.  The  girl  had  begged  her  not  on  any 
account  to  give  up  the  picture.  So  long  as  sense  and 
coherence  remained  the  unlucky  creature  had  declared 
it  to  be  her  own  lawful  property.  Laura  had  solemnly 
promised  to  see  justice  done,  and  it  behooved  her  now 
to  be  as  good  as  her  word. 

"I  suppose,  papa,  you  have  telephoned  already  to 
Mr.  Gedge?" 

"The  Hospital  has,  I  believe,"  said  Sir  Arthur.  "I 
particularly  asked  them  to  do  so.  The  old  fellow  must 
be  very  anxious  about  the  girl,  and  perhaps  even  more 
anxious  about  his  Van  Roon." 

"Please  don't  say  'his  Van  Roon'  before  he's  proved 
the  ownership." 

"That  won't  be  difficult,  I  fear." 

"We  must  make  it  as  difficult  for  him  as  we  can," 
said  the  tenacious  Laura. 

Sir  Arthur  shook  his  head.  As  a  man  of  the  world, 
he  had  but  scant  hope  that  the  mystery  would  be  cleared 
up  in  the  way  Laura  desired. 


LI 


AT  Number  Forty-six,  New  Cross  Street,  the  bot- 
tom seemed  to  have  fallen  out  of  the  world. 
June's  flight  with  the  picture,  as  soon  as  it  became 
known  to  William,  caused  him  not  only  intense  pain, 
but  also  deep  concern.  The  news  was  a  tragic  shock 
for  which  he  was  quite  unprepared ;  and  the  behaviour 
of  his  master  seemed,  if  possible,  to  make  it  worse. 
The  old  man  was  distraught.  Now  that  it  was  no 
longer  necessary  to  mask  his  intentions,  prudence 
slipped  from  him  like  a  veil.  On  his  return,  baffled 
and  furious,  from  Victoria  he  at  once  accused  William 
of  being  in  the  plot  against  him. 

William,  hurt  and  astonished,  was  at  a  loss.  He  did 
not  know  all  that  had  happened ;  he  had  only  the  broad 
facts  to  go  upon  that  June  had  run  off  with  the  picture 
at  an  instant's  notice,  without  a  word  as  to  her  plans 
and  leaving  no  address;  and  the  bitter  reproaches  of 
his  master  appeared  to  him  the  outpourings  of  a  mind 
not  quite  sane. 

Such  indeed  they  were.  The  truth  was  that  upon 
one  subject  S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  a  little  unhinged. 
The  love  of  money,  an  infirmity  which  had  crept  upon 
him  year  by  year  had  begun  to  affect  reason  itself; 
and  now  that,  as  it  seemed,  he  had  thrown  away,  by 
his  own  carelessness,  the  one  really  big  prize  of  his 
career,  this  dark  fact  came  out. 
257 


258  THE   VAN   ROON 

William,  who  found  it  very  difficult  indeed  to  think 
ill  of  anyone,  could  only  accept  the  broad  fact  that  the 
picture  had  meant  even  more  to  the  old  man  that  he  had 
supposed;  therefore  this  good  fellow  was  inclined  to 
pity  his  master.  It  was  not  for  a  mind  such  as  his, 
which  took  things  on  trust,  to  fill  in  the  details  of  a 
tragic  episode.  He  did  not  look  for  the  wherefore  and 
the  why,  yet  he  was  very  deeply  grieved  by  what  had 
occurred. 

The  old  man  could  not  rid  his  brain  of  the  illusion 
that  William  had  connived  with  June.  Under  the  lash 
of  an  unreasoning  rage  he  did  not  pause  to  consider 
the  improbability  of  this,  nor  did  he  try  to  attain  a 
broad  view  of  the  whole  matter ;  it  was  almost  as  if  his 
resentment,  craving  an  outlet,  must  wreak  itself  upon 
the  thing  near  at  hand.  Yet  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours  this  dangerous  obsession  was  to  bring  its  own 
nemesis. 

About  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day,  M.  Duponnet 
came  to  fetch  the  picture.  It  had  been  arranged  that 
Mr.  Gedge  should  present  the  cheque  at  the  Bank  in  the 
meantime,  and  if  duly  approved,  as  there  was  every 
reason  to  expect  that  it  would  be,  the  Van  Roon  should 
be  handed  over  at  once. 

To  the  Frenchman's  surprise,  he  was  now  greeted  by 
his  own  cheque,  backed  by  a  livid  countenance  of  tragic 
exasperation.  The  treasure  had  been  stolen. 

"Stolen!" 

The  face  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  forbade  all  scepticism. 

"When?    By  whom?" 

Mussewer  Duponny  might  well  ask  by  whom!  It 
had  been  stolen  by  the  girl  who  did  the  housework — 
the  old  man  could  not  bring  himself,  in  such  circum- 


THE   VAN    ROON  259 

stances,  to  speak  of  her  as  his  niece — and  he  had  not 
the  least  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  the  youth  who 
helped  him  in  the  business  who,  at  that  moment,  was 
in  the  next  room  polishing  chairs,  had  put  her  wise  in 
the  matter,  and  was  standing  in  with  her. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  still  in  a  frenzy  of  frustration, 
was  hardly  able  to  realize  the  gravity  of  this  charge. 
Had  he  been  in  full  command  of  himself,  he  must  have 
weighed  such  a  statement  very  carefully  indeed  before 
it  was  made.  But  remorselessly  driven  by  his  greed, 
he  threw  discretion  to  the  wind. 

The  disgruntled  purchaser  was  quick  to  seize  upon 
the  accusation.  To  his  mind,  at  least,  its  import  was 
clear.  Even  if  the  seller  did  not  perceive  its  full  impli- 
cation, the  buyer  of  the  Van  Roon  had  no  difficulty 
in  doing  so. 

"We  must  call  in  ze  police,  hein?" 

The  words  brought  the  old  man  up  short.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  take  his  bearings ;  to  find  out,  as  well  as  his 
rage  would  let  him,  just  where  he  stood  in  the  matter. 
Certainly  the  police  did  not  appeal  to  him  at  all.  It 
was  not  a  case  for  publicity,  because  the  picture  was 
not  his:  that  was  to  say,  having  now  reached  a  point 
where  the  law  of  meum  and  tuum  had  become  curious- 
ly involved,  it  might  prove  exceedingly  difficult  and 
even  more  inconvenient  to  establish  a  title  to  the  Van 
Roon.  No,  he  preferred  to  do  without  the  police. 

M.  Duponnet,  however,  unfettered  by  a  sense  of  re- 
straint, argued  volubly  that  the  police  be  called  in.  The 
assistant  was  guilty  or  he  was  not  guilty;  and  in  any 
event  it  would  surely  be  wise  to  enlist  the  help  of  those 
who  knew  best  how  to  deal  with  thieves.  Nothing 
could  have  exceeded  the  buyer's  conviction  that  this 


260  THE   VAN    ROON 

should  be  done,  yet  to  his  chagrin  he  quite  failed  to 
communicate  it  to  S.  Gedge  Antiques. 

From  that  moment,  a  suspicion  began  to  grow  up 
in  the  Frenchman's  mind  that  the  seller  was  not  laying 
all  his  cards  on  the  table.  Could  it  be  that  he  was  telling 
a  cock  and  bull  story?  According  to  Mr.  Thornton, 
who  was  acting  as  a  go-between,  this  old  man  had  long 
had  the  name  of  a  shifty  customer.  Undoubtedly  he 
looked  one  this  morning.  Jules  Duponnet  had  seldom 
seen  a  frontispiece  he  liked  less;  and  the  theory  now 
gained  a  footing  in  his  mind  that  the  old  fox  wanted  to 
go  back  on  his  bargain. 

There  were  two  drawbacks,  all  the  same,  to  M. 
Duponnet's  theory.  In  the  first  place,  as  no  money 
had  yet  changed  hands,  it  would  be  quite  easy  for  S. 
Gedge  Antiques  to  undo  the  bargain  by  a  straightfor- 
ward means;  and  further,  beyond  any  shadow  of  doubt, 
the  old  man  was  horribly  upset  by  his  loss. 

"Let  us  go  to  ze  bureau,  Meester  Gedge,"  he  said,  as 
conviction  renewed  itself  in  the  light  of  these  facts. 

"No,  no,  no,"  cried  the  old  man,  whose  brain,  capa- 
ble at  times  of  a  surprising  vigour,  was  now  furiously 
at  work. 

"But  why  not?" 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  did  not  reply  immediately,  but 
at  last  a  dark  light  broke  over  the  vulpine  face.  "Why 
not,  Mussewer  Duponny?  I'll  tell  you.  Because  I 
think  there  may  be  a  better  way  of  dealing  with  that 
damned  young  scoundrel  yonder."  William's  master 
pointed  towards  the  inner  room.  "Happen  the  police'll 
need  all  sorts  of  information  we  don't  want  to  give 
them ;  and  my  experience  is,  Mussewer,  their  methods 
are  slow  and  clumsy,  and  out  of  date.  They  may  take 


THE   VAN    ROON  261 

weeks  over  this  job,  and  long  before  they  are  through 
with  it,  the  picture  will  be  in  America." 

"You  may  be  right,  Meester  Gedge.  But  where's 
the  'arm  in  seeing  what  they  can  do  ?" 

With  the  air  of  one  whose  faculties  have  been  braced 
by  a  mental  tonic,  the  old  man  shook  his  head  deci- 
sively. "Mussewer  Duponny,"  he  said,  in  a  slow  voice 
which  gave  weight  and  value  to  each  word,  "I'm  think- 
ing with  a  little  help  from  yourself  and  Mr.  Thornton  I 
can  deal  with  this — this  scoundrel  much  better  than 
the  police." 

"At  your  sairvice,  Meester  Gedge,"  said  Jules  Du- 
ponnet,  with  a  dry  smile.  He  could  not  have  been  the 
man  he  was,  had  he  remained  insensitive  to  the  depth 
of  cunning  which  now  transfigured  the  face  of  the  old 
dealer.  "But  for  Meester  Thornton  of  course  I  can- 
not spick." 

"You  can't,  of  course,"  said  the  old  fox,  briskly. 
"But  we'll  go  right  now,  and  have  a  word  with  Mr. 
Thornton  on  the  subject." 

Like  one  in  whom  a  change  sudden  and  mysterious 
has  been  wrought,  S.  Gedge  Antiques  stepped  through 
the  house  door  into  the  passage,  took  his  hat  and  coat 
from  the  peg,  and  his  heavy  knotted  walking  stick  out 
of  the  rickety  umbrella  stand,  put  his  head  into  the 
room  next  door  and  said,  in  a  harsh  tone  to  the  polisher 
of  chairs,  "Boy,  I'm  going  along  as  far  as  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton's, so  you'd  better  keep  an  eye  on  the  shop." 


LII 

THE  old  man,  contrary  to  his  practice,  was  a  little 
late  for  the  midday  meal,  and  he  had  a  poor 
appetite  for  it.  As  he  tried  to  eat  the  cold  mutton  and 
the  potato  William  had  baked  for  him,  his  thoughts 
seemed  a  long  way  from  his  plate.  William  himself, 
who  was  too  full  of  trouble  to  give  much  attention  to 
food,  now  saw  that  the  old  man's  earlier  ferocity, 
which  had  hurt  him  even  more  than  it  had  puzzled 
him,  had  yielded  to  a  depth  of  melancholy  that  was 
hardly  less  disturbing.  But  the  master's  manner,  on 
his  return  from  the  visit  to  Mr.  Thornton,  was  far 
more  in  accordance  with  his  nature,  at  least  as  William 
understood  that  nature;  indeed,  his  voice  had  recap- 
tured  the  note  of  pathos  which  seemed  natural  to  it 
whenever  the  Van  Roon  was  mentioned. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you,  boy,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  tone, 
towards  the  end  of  the  meal,  "that  it  looks  as  if  there'll 
be  the  dickens  to  pay  over  this  job.  A  French  detective 
from  Paris  has  been  here,  and  he's  coming  again  this 
afternoon  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

"With  me,  sir?" 

The  old  man,  whose  eyes  were  furtively  devouring 
the  face  of  William,  was  quick  to  observe  its  startled 
look.  "Yes,  boy,  you're  the  one  he  wants  to  see.  The 
Loov  authorities  have  managed  to  get  wind  of  this 
Van  Roon  of  ours,  and  they  say  it's  the  feller  they've 
been  looking  for  since  1898." 
262 


THE   VAN    ROON  263 

Easy  to  gull  William  in  some  respects  was,  yet,  he 
could  not  help  thinking  that  the  French  Government 
took  a  little  too  much  for  granted. 

"I  think  so,  too — but  there  it  is,"  said  the  old  man. 
"They  have  to  prove  the  Van  Roon  is  theirs,  and  that 
won't  be  easy,  as  I  told  the  detective  this  morning.  But 
I  understand  that  the  question  of  identity  turns  upon 
certain  marks,  as  well  as  upon  similarity  of  subject." 

William  allowed  that  the  subject  had  an  undoubted 
similarity  with  that  of  the  picture  stolen  from  the 
Louvre,  but  then,  as  he  explained,  every  known  Van 
Roon  had  a  strong  family  likeness.  In  size  they  varied 
little,  and  they  always  depicted  trees,  water,  clouds, 
and  in  some  cases  a  windmill. 

"Ours,  I  believe,  had  no  windmill." 

"No,  sir,  only  water  and  trees,  and  a  wonderful  bit 
of  cloud." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  old  man  mournfully,  "that 
the  one  that  was  stolen  from  the  Loov  had  no  wind- 
mill." 

"The  other  one  in  the  Louvre  has  no  windmill ;  there 
are  two  at  Amsterdam  that  have  no  windmill;  and 
there's  one  at  The  Hague,  I  believe,  that  hasn't  a  wind- 
mill." 

"May  be.  These  are  all  points  in  our  favour.  But, 
as  I  say,  the  whole  question  will  turn  upon  certain 
identification  marks,  and  this  French  detective  is  com- 
ing here  this  afternoon  to  examine  it.  So  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  off  at  once, 
and  get  it  back  from  that  hussy,  because  you  can  take 
it  from  me,  boy,  that  we  are  going  to  be  held  responsi- 
ble for  the  picture's  safety  by  the  French  police ;  and 
if  when  the  detective  calls  again  all  we  have  to  say  is 


264  THE   VAN   ROON 

that  it  has  vanished  like  magic,  and  we  are  unable  to 
produce  it,  we  may  easily  find  ourselves  in  the  lock-up." 

This  speech,  worded  with  care  and  uttered  with 
weight,  had  the  effect  of  increasing  William's  distress. 
Underlying  it  was  the  clear  assumption  that  he  was  in 
league  with  June,  and  this  was  intolerable  to  him,  less 
because  of  her  strangely  misguided  action,  than  for  the 
reason  that  the  master  to  whom  he  had  been  so  long 
devoted  found  it  impossible  to  believe  his  word. 

"If  only  I  knew  where  Miss  June  was,  sir — "  he  said, 
miserably. 

The  old  man,  with  the  fragment  of  caution  still  left 
to  him,  was  able  to  refrain  from  giving  William  the  lie. 
It  wasn't  easy  to  forbear,  since  he  was  quite  unable 
to  accept  the  open  and  palpable  fact  that  his  assistant 
was  in  complete  ignorance  of  June's  whereabouts.  So 
true  it  is  that  the  gods  first  tamper  with  the  reason  of 
those  whom  they  would  destroy! 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  in  the  toils  of  a  powerful 
and  dangerous  obsession.  He  saw  William  in  terms 
of  himself ;  indeed,  he  was  overtaken  by  the  nemesis 
which  dogs  the  crooked  mind.  For  the  old  man  was 
now  incapable  of  seeing  things  as  they  were;  the 
monstrous  shadow  of  his  own  wickedness  and  folly 
enshrouded  others  like  a  pall.  One  so  shrewd  as  Will- 
iam's master,  who  had  had  such  opportunities,  more- 
over, of  gauging  the  young  man's  worth,  should  have 
been  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  hold  him  guilty 
of  this  elaborate  and  futile  deceit ;  but  the  old  man  was 
in  thrall  to  the  Frankenstein  his  own  evil  thoughts  had 
created. 

He  was  sure  that  William  was  lying.  Just  as  in  the 
first  instance  the  young  man  had  given  the  picture  to 


THE   VAN    ROON  265 

"the  hussy",  he  was  now  in  collusion  with  her  in  an 
audacious  attempt  to  dispose  of  it.  S.  Gedge  Antiques 
was  not  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  sift,  to  analyze,  to  ask 
questions ;  it  seemed  natural  and  convenient  to  embrace 
such  a  theory  and,  urged  by  the  demon  within,  he  was 
now  building  blindly  upon  it. 

About  three  o'clock  William  was  engaged  in  the  lum- 
ber room  putting  derelict  pieces  of  furniture  to  rights, 
when  his  master  came  with  a  long  and  serious  face,  and 
said  that  the  French  detective  wanted  to  see  him.  Will- 
iam put  on  his  coat  and  followed  the  old  man  into  the 
shop  where  he  found  two  persons  awaiting  him.  With 
only  one  of  these  was  William  acquainted.  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton was  well  known  to  him  by  sight,  but  he  had  not  seen 
before  the  French  dealer,  M.  Duponnet 

With  a  nice  sense  of  drama  on  the  part  of  S.  Gedge 
Antiques  the  Frenchman  was  now  made  known  to 
William  as  M.  Duplay  of  the  Paris  police.  Midway 
between  a  snuffle  and  a  groan,  the  old  man,  raising  his 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  heaven,  besought  his  assistant  to 
tell  Mussewer  all  that  he  knew  as  to  the  picture's  where- 
abouts. 

William,  alas,  knew  no  more  than  his  master;  and  he 
found  no  difficulty  in  saying  so.  He  was  not  believed, 
since  the  old  man  had  had  no  scruple  in  the  blackening 
of  his  character,  and  the  Frenchman,  with  a  skilful  as- 
sumption of  the  manner  of  an  official,  which  the  others 
solemnly  played  up  to,  proceeded  to  threaten  the  as- 
sistant with  the  terrors  of  the  law. 

The  French  Government  was  convinced  from  the 
description,  which  had  been  given  of  the  Van  Roon  by 
those  who  had  seen  it,  that  there  could  be  little  doubt 
it  was  their  long  missing  property.  Such  being  the 


266  THE   VAN    ROON 

case,  the  police  were  only  willing  to  allow  the  young 
man  another  twenty-four  hours  in  which  to  produce  it 
for  examination.  If  he  failed  to  do  that  within  the 
time  specified,  a  warrant  would  be  applied  for,  and  he 
might  find  himself  in  prison. 

In  the  face  of  this  intimidation,  William  stuck  to 
his  story.  He  knew  no  more  than  the  dead  where  the 
picture  was;  Miss  June,  to  whom  it  had  been  given, 
had  suddenly  disappeared  with  it  the  previous  night. 

"Who  is  Mees  June?"  said  the  Frenchman  sharply. 

Miss  June  was  the  niece  of  Mr.  Gedge. 

"And  he  gave  the  picture  to  her?"  The  disap- 
pointed buyer,  who  felt  that  his  suspicions  in  the  matter 
were  being  confirmed,  looked  keenly  from  the  young 
man  to  the  old. 

"No,  sir,"  said  William,  with  the  utmost  simplicity. 
"I  gave  it  to  her  myself." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  astonishment  played  its 
part,  and  then  Mr.  Thornton  gravely  interposed:  "How 
do  you  mean  you  gave  her  the  picture?  It  isn't  yours 
to  give.  It  is  the  property  of  your  master." 

"You  are  forgetting,  boy,"  said  the  old  man  in  a 
voice  in  which  oil  and  vinegar  were  wonderfully  min- 
gled, "that  I  would  not  allow  my  niece  to  have  such 
a  valuable  thing,  and  that  you  then  made  it  over  to  me 
to  dispose  of  to  the  best  advantage." 

"I  gave  it  to  Miss  June,"  persisted  the  young  man 
simply,  "but  I  told  her  that,  as  you  had  set  your  heart 
upon  it,  I  hoped  very  much  she  would  let  you  have  it." 

While  this  odd  conversation  went  on,  the  two  dealers 
exchanged  glances.  Both  were  greatly  puzzled.  They 
were  as  one  in  being  a  little  suspicious  of  the  absolute 
bona  fides  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques.  Either  this  was  a 


THE   VAN   ROON  267 

very  clumsy  method  of  establishing  them,  or  there  was 
more  behind  the  picture's  disappearance  than  met  the 
eye. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  whose  brain  was  working  at 
high  pressure,  was  not  slow  to  read  their  minds.  He 
closed  the  discussion  with  a  brevity  which  yet  was  not 
lacking  altogether  in  persuasion.  "There's  no  time, 
boy,  to  go  into  all  that,"  he  said.  "The  girl's  gone  off 
with  the  picture,  and  wherever  she's  to  be  found,  you 
must  go  right  away,  and  get  it  back  from  her,  and 
bring  it  here  to  me,  or  we  may  both  find  ourselves  in 
the  lock-up.  That  is  so,  Mussewer  Duplay — what?" 
And  with  a  lively  gesture  the  old  fox  turned  to  the 
Frenchman. 

Puzzled  that  gentleman  certainly  was,  yet  he  heartily 
agreed.  If  the  Van  Roon  was  not  produced  within  the 
next  four  and  twenty  hours,  a  warrant  would  be  issued. 

"Where  is  the  hussy?  That's  what  we  want  to 
know,"  said  the  old  man.  "Tell  us  what  has  become 
of  her." 

Frankly  William  did  not  know.  He  was  not  believed, 
at  any  rate,  by  his  master  who  by  now  was  deeper 
than  ever  in  the  coil  of  his  own  crookedness.  As  for 
the  two  dealers  who,  between  them,  had  contrived,  as 
they  thought,  to  acquire  one  of  the  world's  treasures 
for  an  absurd  sum,  they  did  not  know  what  to  think. 
The  comedy  they  were  performing  at  the  instance  of 
S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  designed  to  bemuse  the  as- 
sistant, yet  both  men  had  an  uneasy  feeling  at  the 
back  of  their  minds  that  master  and  man  were  engaged 
in  a  piece  of  flapdoodle  for  their  private  benefit.  If  so, 
the  old  man  was  a  fool  as  well  as  a  rogue,  and  the 
young  one  was  a  rogue  as  well  as  a  fool.  Scant  was 


268  THE   VAN   ROON 

the  comfort  to  be  got  out  of  this  reflection.  They 
seemed  very  far  from  the  goal  on  which  their  hearts 
were  set;  and  impatience  of  such  methods  was  just 
beginning  to  show  itself  in  the  bearing  of  Messrs. 
Duponnet  and  Thornton  when  the  affair  took  a  new 
and  remarkable  turn. 


LIII 

A  TALL  man,  quietly  dressed,  yet  wearing  a  silk 
hat  and  an  eyeglass,  with  a  pleasant  air  of  au- 
thority, came  into  the  shop.  For  a  moment  he  stood  by 
the  door,  a  rather  cool  gazed  fixed  upon  the  group  of 
four ;  and  then,  an  odd  mingling  of  alertness  and  cau- 
tion in  his  manner,  he  advanced  to  the  proprietor. 

"May  I  have  a  word  with  you,"  said  the  visitor, 
with  an  air  of  apology  for  the  benefit  of  the  others 
whom  he  included  in  a  smile  which  expressed  little. 

"Certainly  you*  may,  Sir  Arthur,"  said  S.  Gedge 
Antiques,  an  odd  change  coming  into  his  tone.  Taken 
by  surprise,  the  old  man  had  been  slow  to  reckon  up 
the  situation.  He  was  not  able  to  detach  himself  from 
the  group,  and  lead  the  rather  unwelcome  visitor  out 
of  earshot  before  that  gentleman  had  divulged  the  busi- 
ness which  had  brought  him  there. 

"You  must  be  anxious  about  your  niece,  Mr.  Gedge," 
said  Sir  Arthur,  who  saw  no  need  for  secrecy. 

The  old  man  was  very  anxious  indeed. 

"You've  heard  from  the  Hospital,  of  course  ?" 

It  seemed  that  the  old  man  had  heard  nothing;  and 
Sir  Arthur  was  proceeding  to  deplore  this  oversight 
on  the  part  of  those  whom  he  had  asked  over  the  tele- 
phone to  communicate  with  Number  Forty-six,  New 
Cross  Street,  when  William,  whose  ear  had  caught  the 
sinister  word  'Hospital'  could  no  longer  restrain  a 
painful  curiosity. 

The  young  man  sprang  forward  with  clasped  hands 
269 


270  THE   VAN   ROON 

and  shining  eyes.  "Oh,  sir,  what  has  happened  to 
Miss  June?"  he  cried.  "Tell  me — please!" 

Sir  Arthur,  his  mission  concrete  in  his  mind,  brought 
a  steady  eye  to  bear  upon  the  young  man  before  he 
slowly  replied :  "She  has  had  a  mental  breakdown,  and 
we  were  able  to  arrange  for  her  to  be  taken  late  last 
night  to  St.  Jude's  Hospital."  He  then  turned  to  the 
old  man,  who  had  either  grasped  the  news  more  slowly, 
or  was  less  affected  by  it,  and  said:  "It's  a  case  for 
careful  treatment,  in  the  opinion  of  the  doctor  who  saw 
her  soon  after  she  arrived  at  my  house,  and  upon 
whose  advice  she  was  sent  to  the  Hospital.  I  am  very 
sorry  now  that  I  did  not  communicate  with  you 
myself !" 

It  was  the  young  man,  however,  as  Sir  Arthur  did 
not  fail  to  notice,  who  seemed  really  to  be  troubled  by 
what  had  befallen  this  unfortunate  girl.  S.  Gedge 
Antiques,  for  his  part,  soon  shewed  that  his  inmost 
thoughts  were  centered  upon  something  else. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,"  he  said,  with  an  excitement 
he  did  not  try  to  conceal,  "whether  the  picture  she 
took  away  with  her  is  quite  safe  ?" 

Sir  Arthur  looked  hard  at  the  old  man  before  he 
answered:  "Mr.  Gedge,  the  picture  is  perfectly  safe." 

"Thank  God!"  The  exclamation  of  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques was  not  the  less  heartfelt  for  being  involuntary. 

"And  Miss  June  ?"  interposed  William  huskily.  "Is 
she  ?  ...  Is  she  .  .  .  ?"  He  was  too  upset  to  frame 
his  question. 

"She  is  very  ill  indeed,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Sir  Arthur, 
in  a  kind  tone,  "but  she  is  in  the  best  possible  hands. 
Anything  that  can  be  done  for  her  will  be  done — I  am 
sure  you  can  count  upon  that." 


THE   VAN   ROON  271 

"Is  she  going  to  die?" 

Sir  Arthur  shook  his  head.  "When  I  last  rang  up 
the  Hospital,  I  asked  that  question,  but  they  will  not 
give  an  opinion.  They  prefer  not  to  go  beyond  the 
fact  that  she  is  critically  ill." 

Tears  gathered  slowly  in  William's  eyes.  Con- 
science was  pricking  him  sharply.  Had  he  not  brought 
this  unlucky  picture  into  the  house,  such  a  terrible  thing 
would  not  have  occurred. 

William's  brief  talk  with  the  visitor,  whose  un- 
heralded appearance  upon  the  scene  was  by  no  means 
welcome  to  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  gave  his  master  a  much 
needed  opportunity  to  decide  upon  the  course  of  action. 
The  two  dealers  knew  now  that  the  Van  Roon  was  safe, 
but  as  far  as  William  and  Sir  Arthur  were  concerned, 
the  situation  was  full  of  complexity.  Much  cunning 
would  be  needed  to  smooth  out  the  tangle ;  and  to  this 
end,  as  the  old  man  promptly  realized,  the  first  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  induce  the  Frenchman  and  his  agent 
to  quit  the  shop. 

"You  hear,  Mussewer,  that  the  picture  is  safe,"  he 
said  to  the  buyer,  soapily.  "I  will  go  at  once  and  get 
it  from  this  gentleman.  If  you  will  come  in  again 
to-morrow  morning,  it  shall  be  ready  for  you." 

M.  Duponnet  seemed  inclined  to  await  further  de- 
velopments, but  S.  Gedge  Antiques  had  no  scruples 
about  dismissing  his  fellow  conspirators.  Without 
more  ado,  he  ushered  both  dealers  gently  but  firmly  to 
the  door.  This  new  turn  in  the  game  had  made 
them  keenly  curious  to  learn  more  of  the  affair,  yet 
they  realized  that  they  were  on  thin  ice  themselves, 
and  the  peremptory  manner  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  en- 
forced that  view.  "To-morrow  morning,  gentlemen — 


272  THE   VAN   ROON 

come  and  see  me  then !"  he  said,  opening  the  shop  door 
determinedly,  and  waiting  for  these  inconvenient  visi- 
tors to  pass  out. 

This  task  accomplished,  the  old  man  had  to  deal  with 
one  more  delicate.  He  had  to  remove  from  the  minds 
of  William  and  Sir  Arthur  Babraham  all  suspicion  in 
regard  to  himself.  He  came  to  them  with  his  most 
sanctimonious  air:  "I  can't  tell  you,  sir,"  he  assured 
Sir  Arthur,  "what  a  relief  it  is  to  know  that  my  niece 
is  in  good  hands.  But  I  am  afraid  she  is  a  very  wicked 
girl."  Then  he  turned  abruptly  to  William,  and  said 
in  a  low  tone  that  he  wished  to  have  a  private  con- 
versation with  Sir  Arthur. 

For  once,  however,  the  young  man  shewed  less  than 
his  usual  docility.  He  was  most  eager  to  learn  all 
that  had  happened  to  June,  and  to  gain  a  clue,  if  pos- 
sible, to  her  strange  conduct ;  besides  the  painful  change 
in  his  master  now  rilled  him  with  distrust. 

The  shrewd  judge  of  the  world  and  its  ways  upon 
whom  the  duty  had  fallen  of  holding  the  balance  true 
was  quick  to  note  the  reluctance  of  the  younger  man ; 
and  even  if  the  nature  of  the  case  would  compel  him 
in  the  end  to  take  the  word  of  the  proprietor  against 
that  of  the  servant,  he  was  influenced  already,  in  spite 
of  himself,  by  that  open  simplicity  which  had  had  such 
an  effect  upon  his  daughter. 

"Is  there  anything,  Mr.  Gedge,  we  have  to  say  to  one 
another,  which  this  young  man  may  not  hear?"  said 
Sir  Arthur  quietly,  and  then,  as  the  old  dealer  did  not 
immediately  reply,  he  added  coolly,  "I  think  not." 
Turning  to  William  he  said:  "Please  stay  with  us. 
There  are  one  or  two  questions  I  have  to  put  which  I 
hope  you  will  be  good  enough  to  answer." 


THE   VAN   ROON  273 

This  did  not  suit  the  book  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques, 
but  he  decided  to  play  a  bold  game.  "I'm  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  in  taking  care  of  the 
picture,"  he  said,  with  a  smirk  to  his  visitor.  "As  you 
know,  it  is  a  thing  of  great  value.  Had  anything  hap- 
pened to  it,  the  loss  would  have  been  terrible.  Perhaps 
you  will  allow  me  to  go  at  once  and  fetch  it,  for  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  sir,  that  until  I  get  it  back  again  my 
mind  will  not  be  easy." 

Sir  Arthur  looked  narrowly  at  the  face  of  unpleas- 
ant cunning  before  him,  and  then  he  said  very  quietly: 
"I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Gedge,  that  your 
niece  claims  the  picture  as  her  property." 

The  old  man  was  prepared  for  a  development 
which  he  had  been  able  to  foresee.  "I  am  afraid  she 
is  a  very  wicked  girl,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  known 
good  man  whose  feelings  are  deeply  wounded.  "I  ask 
you,  sir,  is  it  likely  that  a  thing  of  such  immense  value 
would  belong  to  her  ?" 

Sir  Arthur  had  to  agree  that  it  was  not,  yet  remem- 
bering his  daughter's  deep  conviction  on  the  subject, 
he  was  careful  to  assert  June's  claim. 

"Moonshine,  I  assure  you,  sir." 

Sir  Arthur,  however,  did  not  regard  this  as  con- 
clusive. In  the  light  of  what  had  happened  he  felt 
it  to  be  his  duty  to  seek  a  clear  proof  of  the  picture's 
ownership;  therefore  he  now  turned  to  William  and 
told  him  that  the  girl  in  the  Hospital  declared  that  he 
had  given  her  the  Van  Roon.  A  plain  statement  of  fact 
was  demanded,  and  in  the  face  of  so  direct  an  appeal 
the  young  man  did  not  hesitate  to  give  one.  Originally 
the  picture  was  his  property,  but  a  week  ago  he  had 
given  it  to  his  master's  niece. 


274  THE   VAN   ROON 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  that,  Mr.  Gedge?"  asked 
Sir  Arthur. 

The  heart  of  William  seemed  to  miss  a  beat  while  he 
waited  painfully  for  the  answer  to  this  question.  To 
one  of  his  primitive  nature,  his  whole  life,  past,  present 
and  future  seemed  to  turn  upon  the  old  man's  next 
words ;  and  a  kind  of  slow  agony  overcame  him,  as  he 
realized  what  these  words  were  in  all  their  cynical 
wickedness. 

"The  Van  Roon  is  mine,  sir,"  said  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques, in  a  voice,  strong,  definite  and  calm.  "It  was 
bought  with  my  money." 

Sir  Arthur  fixed  upon  the  stupefied  William  an  in- 
terrogating eye.  In  his  own  mind  he  felt  sure  that 
this  must  be  the  fact  of  the  matter,  yet  it  was  hard  to 
believe  that  a  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  openness 
itself  was  deliberately  lying.  "What  do  you  say?"  hq 
asked  gently. 

William  was  too  shocked  to  say  anything.  His 
master  took  a  full  advantage  of  the  pause  which  fol- 
lowed. "Come,  boy,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  kindly 
expostulation,  "you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  you  were 
given  the  money  to  buy  a  few  things  down  in  Suffolk 
in  the  ordinary  way  of  business  on  your  week's  holi- 
day and  that  this  little  thing  was  one  of  your  pur- 
chases." 

Sadly  the  young  man  shook  his  head.  The  cold 
falsehood  was  heavier  upon  him  than  a  blow  from  the 
old  man's  fist  would  have  been,  yet  it  roused  him  to  the 
point  of  blunt  denial.  Quite  simply  he  set  forth  the 
true  facts. 

"The  master  gave  me  twenty  pounds  to  attend  a  sale 
by  auction  at  Loseby  Grange,  Saxmundham,  and  I 


THE   VAN    ROON  275 

bought  things  to  the  value  of  twenty  pounds  one  and 
ninepence." 

In  a  voice  which  was  a  nice  mingling  of  humour  and 
pathos  the  old  man  interposed.  "This  picture,  which 
I  admit  was  bought  for  a  song  as  the  saying  is,  was 
among  them." 

"No,  sir,"  said  William,  "I  bought  this  picture  with 
my  own  money  from  an  old  woman  in  a  shop  at 
Crowdham  Market." 

So  much  for  the  issue,  which  now  was  quite  clearly 
defined.  Sir  Arthur,  however,  could  only  regret  that 
the  supremely  difficult  task  of  keeping  the  scales  of  jus- 
tice true  had  developed  upon  him. 

"What  did  you  pay  for  the  picture,  may  I  ask?" 

"Five  shillings,"  said  William,  unhesitatingly. 

"Five  shillings!" 

"It  was  as  black  as  night  when  I  bought  it,  sir,  with 
a  still  life,  which  must  have  been  at  least  two  hundred 
years  old  daubed  over  it." 

"Black  enough,  I  allow,"  said  the  old  man,  "but  it 
can't  alter  the  fact  that  the  picture's  mine." 

"Let  me  be  quite  clear  on  one  point,"  said  Sir  Arthur. 
"You  maintain,  Mr.  Gedge,  that  the  picture  was  bought 
at  a  sale  with  your  money,  and  this  young  man  declares 
it  was  bought  at  a  shop  with  his." 

"That  is  so,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Do  you  happen  to  have  kept  a  list  of  the  things  that 
were  bought  at  the  sale?" 

"No,  sir,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  one." 

Here,  however,  the  old  man's  memory  was  at  fault, 
and  this  material  fact  William  went  on  to  prove.  Under 
the  counter  was  a  file  containing  a  mass  of  receipted 
bills,  and  from  among  these  the  young  man  was  able 


276  THE   VAN   ROON 

to  produce  a  document  which  told  heavily  in  his  fa- 
vour. It  was  a  list  of  his  purchases  at  Loseby  Grange, 
carefully  written  out,  with  the  sum  paid  opposite  each 
item,  and  at  the  foot  of  it,  immediately  beneath  the 
figures  "£20.1.9"  was  written  in  a  rather  shaky  but 
businesslike  hand,  "Audited  and  found  correct.  S. 
Gedge." 

This  lucky  discovery  went  some  way  towards  estab- 
lishing William's  case.  The  paper  contained  no  men- 
tion of  a  picture,  other  than  a  print  after  P.  Bartolozzi, 
which  William  took  at  once  from  the  shop  window. 
Finished  dissembler  as  he  was,  the  old  man  could  not 
conceal  the  fact  that  he  was  shaken,  but  like  a  desperate 
gambler  with  a  fortune  at  stake,  he  hastily  changed  his 
tactics.  He  began  now  to  pooh-pooh  the  receipt,  and 
declared  that  even  if  his  unfortunate  memory  had 
played  him  a  trick  as  to  where  the  picture  had  been 
actually  bought,  it  did  not  affect  the  contention  that  it 
had  been  purchased  with  his  money. 

Sir  Arthur  Babraham,  in  his  search  for  the  truth, 
could  not  help  contrasting  the  bearing  of  the  claimants. 
Avarice  was  engraved  deeply  upon  the  yellow  parch- 
ment countenance  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  whereas  so 
open  was  the  face  of  William  that  it  went  against  the 
grain  to  accuse  its  owner  of  baseness.  In  spite,  of  this, 
however,  Sir  Arthur  could  not  help  asking  himself 
how  it  had  come  about  that  a  young  man  so  poor,  who 
was  yet  clever  enough  to  pick  up  such  a  treasure  for  a 
few  shillings  had  parted  with  it  so  lightly. 

Upon  the  answer  to  that  question  he  felt  much 
would  depend. 

"I  suppose  when  you  gave  this  picture  away  you  did 
not  realize  its  great  value  ?" 


THE   VAN    ROON  277 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  sir,  I  hardly  thought  about  it 
at  all  in  that  way.  I  only  saw  that  it  was  a  very  lovely 
thing,  and  Miss  June  saw  that  it  was  a  very  lovely 
thing.  She  admired  it  so  much  that  she  begged  me  to 
let  her  buy  it." 

"Did  you  take  her  money?" 

"No,  sir.  She  accepted  it  as  a  gift.  I  asked  her  not 
to  let  us  think  of  it  as  money." 

"Could  you  afford  to  do  that?"  Involuntarily  the 
questioner  looked  at  the  young  man's  threadbare  coat 
and  shabby  trousers,  and  at  once  decided  that  he,  of 
all  people,  certainly  could  not. 

William's  answer,  accompanied  by  a  baffling  smile, 
gave  pause  to  the  man  of  the  world.  "I  hope,  sir,  I 
shall  always  afford  the  luxury  of  not  setting  a  price 
on  beauty." 

The  dark  saying  brought  a  frown  to  the  face  of  Mr. 
Worldly  Wiseman,  who  said  in  his  slow  voice:  "But 
surely  you  would  not  give  away  a  Van  Roon  to  the 
first  person  who  asks  for  it?" 

"Why  not,  sir — if  you  happen  to — to " 

"If  you  happen  to  what?" 

"To  like  the  person." 

Although  the  young  man  blushed  when  he  made  this 
confession,  such  an  ingenuousness  did  his  cause  no 
harm.  Sir  Arthur  Babraham,  all  the  same,  was  puzzled 
more  than  a  little  by  such  an  attitude  of  mind.  This 
indifference  to  money  was  almost  uncanny;  and  yet 
as  he  compared  the  face  of  the  assistant  with  that  of  the 
master,  the  difference  was  tragic.  One  suffused  with 
the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,  the  other  dark 
as  the  image  of  Baal  whose  shadow  was  cast  half  across 
the  shop. 


LIV 

DOUBT  was  melting  in  the  mind  of  Sir  Arthur 
Babraham.  He  was  coming  now  to  a  percep- 
tion of  the  truth.  To  one  who  lived  in  the  world, 
who  saw  men  and  things  at  an  obtuse  angle,  the  story 
as  told  by  this  young  man  verged  upon  the  incredible 
and  yet  he  felt  sure  it  was  true.  The  fellow  was  an 
Original,  an  unkind  critic  might  even  say  that  he  was 
a  trifle  "cracked,"  but  if  this  visionary  who  adored 
beauty  for  its  own  sake  could  enact  such  a  piece  of 
deceit  it  would  be  unwise  ever  to  trust  one's  judgment 
again  in  regard  to  one's  fellow  creatures.  And  the 
reverse  of  the  medal  was  shewn  just  as  plainly  in  the 
face  of  the  old  dealer. 

Man  of  affairs  as  Sir  Arthur  was,  however,  he  knew 
better  than  to  take  a  hasty  decision  upon  what,  after 
all,  might  prove  to  be  wrong  premises.  It  was  his 
clear  duty  to  see  justice  done  in  a  strange  matter,  but 
he  would  leave  to  others  the  task  of  enforcing  it.  Thus 
when  the  old  man  renewed  his  demand  to  be  allowed  to 
go  at  once  to  Park  Lane  and  get  the  picture,  he  was 
met  by  a  refusal  which  if  very  polite  was  also  final. 

"Mr.  Gedge,  my  daughter  holds  this  picture  in  trust 
for  your  niece,  who  I  am  informed  by  the  Hospital,  has 
been  most  cruelly  used  by  somebody.  She  accepts — 
we  both  accept — the  story  told  by  your  niece  as  to  how 
in  the  first  instance  she  came  to  possess  this  most  valu- 
278 


THE   VAN   ROON  279 

able  thing,  which  by  the  way  this  young  man  has  been 
able  to  confirm.  If  you  persist  in  trying  to  establish 
your  claim  I  am  afraid  you  must  apply  to  the  law." 

This  speech,  delivered  with  judicial  weight,  was  a 
bomb-shell.  With  a  gasp  the  old  man  realized  that  the 
game  was  up ;  yet  as  soon  as  the  first  shock  had  passed 
he  could  hardly  mask  his  fury.  By  his  own  folly  the 
chance  of  a  lifetime  had  been  thrown  away. 

As  he  was  now  to  find,  he  was  bereft  of  more  than 
the  Van  Roon.  He  had  lost  the  trust  and  affection  of 
William.  In  the  first  agony  of  defeat,  S.  Gedge  An- 
tiques was  far  from  realizing  what  the  fact  would  mean, 
but  it  was  brought  home  to  him  poignantly  two  days 
later. 

William's  first  act,  when  Sir  Arthur  had  left  the 
shop,  was  to  go  to  the  Hospital.  Here  he  was  re- 
ceived by  a  member  of  its  staff  who  told  him  that  the 
patient  was  too  ill  to  see  anyone,  and  that  even  if  she 
recovered,  her  mind  might  be  permanently  affected. 
The  doctor  who  discussed  the  case  with  the  young  man 
allowed  himself  this  frankness,  because  he  was  very 
anxious  for  light  to  be  thrown  on  it.  The  girl  had 
been  cruelly  knocked  about,  there  were  heavy  bruises 
on  her  body  and  marks  on  her  throat  which  suggested 
that  she  had  had  to  fight  for  her  life ;  and  this  was  borne 
out  by  the  delirium  through  which  she  was  passing.  In 
the  main  it  seemed  to  be  inspired  by  terror  of  a  man 
whom  she  spoke  of  continually  as  Uncle  Si. 

The  visitor  was  questioned  closely  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  mysterious  Uncle  Si.  He  was  pressed  to  say  all 
that  he  knew  about  him,  for  the  Hospital  had  to  con- 
sider whether  this  was  not  a  matter  for  the  police. 

William  was  shocked  and  rather  terrified  by  the  turn 


280  THE   VAN   ROON 

things  had  taken.  The  scales  had  been  torn  from  his 
eyes  with  a  force  that  left  him  bewildered.  He  had 
trusted  his  master  in  the  way  he  trusted  all  the  world, 
and  now  disillusion  had  come  in  a  series  of  flashes 
which  left  him  half  blind,  he  felt  life  could  never  be 
the  same.  His  own  world  of  the  higher  reality  was 
after  all  no  more  than  the  paradise  of  a  fool.  Per- 
versely he  had  shut  his  eyes  to  the  wickedness  of  men 
and  their  weak  folly  and  in  consequence  he  now  found 
himself  poised  on  the  lip  of  a  chasm. 

Two  days  after  the  terrible  discovery  which  had 
changed  his  attitude  to  life,  he  told  his  master  that  he 
was  going  to  leave  him.  It  was  a  heavy  blow.  Not 
for  a  moment  had  such  a  thing  entered  the  old  man's 
calculations.  He  had  got  into  the  habit  of  regarding 
this  good  simple  fellow  as  having  so  little  mind  of  his 
own  that  for  all  practical  purposes  he  was  now  a  part 
of  himself. 

So  inconceivable  was  it  to  S.  Gedge  Antiques  that 
one  wedded  to  him  by  years  of  faithful  service  could 
take  such  a  step,  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  the  young 
man  meant  what  he  said.  He  must  be  joking.  But 
the  wish  was  the  anxious  parent  of  the  thought,  for 
even  if  the  old  man's  sight  was  failing,  he  was  yet  able 
to  see  the  disdain  in  the  eyes  of  William. 

"I  can't  part  with  you,  boy,"  he  said  bleakly. 

That,  indeed,  was  the  open  truth.  To  part  with 
this  absolutely  honest  and  dependable  fellow  who  had 
grown  used  to  his  ways,  for  whom  no  day's  work  was 
too  long,  for  whom  no  task  was  too  exacting,  who 
was  always  obliging  and  cheerful,  whose  keen  young 
sight  and  almost  uncanny  "nose"  for  a  good  thing  had 
become  quite  indispensable  to  one  who  was  no  longer 


THE   VAN    ROON  281 

the  man  he  had  been;  for  S.  Gedge  Antiques  to  lose 
this  paragon  was  simply  not  to  be  thought  of. 

"Boy  don't  talk  foolishly.  I'll  raise  your  wages  five 
shillings  a  week  from  the  first  of  the  New  Year." 

The  old  man  could  not  see  the  look  of  slow  horror 
that  crept  into  the  eyes  of  William ;  yet  in  spite  of  his 
other  infirmity,  he  did  not  fail  to  catch  the  note  of 
grim  pain  in  the  stifled,  "I'll  have  to  leave  you,  sir. 
I  can't  stay  here." 

Obtuse  the  old  man  was,  yet  he  now  perceived  the 
finality  of  these  broken  words.  As  he  realized  all  they 
meant  to  him,  the  sharp  pain  was  like  the  stab  of  a 
knife.  William  was  not  merely  indispensable.  His 
master  loved  him.  And  he  had  killed  the  thing  he 
loved. 

"Boy,  I  can't  let  you  go."  Human  weakness  fell 
upon  the  old  man  like  a  shadow ;  this  second  blow  was 
even  more  terrible  than  the  loss  of  the  Van  Roon  which 
was  still  a  nightmare  in  his  thoughts.  "I'm  old.  I'm 
getting  deaf  and  my  eyes  are  going."  He  who  had  had 
no  spark  of  pity  for  others  did  not  scruple  to  ask  it  for 
himself. 

William  was  a  rock.  Primitive  as  he  was,  now  that 
he  could  respect  his  master  no  more,  he  must  cease  to 
serve  him.  The  revelation  of  that  master's  baseness 
had  stricken  him  to  the  heart;  for  the  time  being  it 
had  taken  the  savour  out  of  life  itself. 

One  hope,  one  frail  hope  remained  to  S.  Gedge" An- 
tiques, even  when  he  knew  at  last  that  his  assistant 
was  "through"  with  him.  In  times  so  difficult  the 
young  man  might  not  be  able  to  get  another  job;  yet 
he  had  only  to  mention  it  to  discover  it  was  not  a  staff 
on  which  he  would  be  able  to  lean. 


282  THE   VAN   ROON 

William,  it  seemed,  had  got  another  job  already. 

"At  how  much  a  week?"  Habit  was  so  strong, 
there  was  no  concealing  the  sneer  in  the  tone  of  sur- 
prised inquiry. 

Three  pounds  a  week  was  to  be  William's  salary. 
The  old  man  could  only  gasp.  It  brought  home  to  him, 
as  perhaps  nothing  else  could  have  done,  the  real  worth 
of  the  treasure  he  was  about  to  lose.  It  was  four  times 
the  rate  at  which  he  had  thought  well  to  reward  these 
priceless  services. 

"Who  is  being  fool  enough  to  give  you  that  money?" 
he  sneered,  the  ruling  passion  still  strong  in  him. 

"Mr.  Hutton,  sir,  at  the  top  of  the  street,"  was  the 
mournful  answer. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  dug  a  savage  tooth  in  his  lower 
lip.  Joseph  Hutton  was  a  young  and  "pushful"  rival 
whom  on  instinct  he  hated.  "Fellow's  a  fool  to  go 
spoiling  the  market,"  he  snarled. 

Alas,  the  old  man  knew  but  too  well  that  as  far  as 
William  was  concerned,  it  was  not  at  all  a  question  of 
spoiling  the  market.  That  aspect  of  the  matter  would 
never  arise  in  his  mind. 


LV 

EVERY  day  for  a  fortnight  William  went  to  the 
Hospital,  only  to  be  denied  a  sight  of  the  patient. 
June  was  fighting  for  life.  And  even  when  the  crisis 
was  passed  and  it  began  to  appear  that  the  fight  would 
be  successful,  she  had  to  face  an  issue  just  as  critical 
and  yet  more  terrible,  for  the  fear  remained  that  she 
would  lose  her  reason. 

In  this  time  of  darkness  William  was  most  unhappy. 
But  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  events  moved  quickly. 
He  said  good-bye  to  his  master,  removed  his  belongings 
from  Number  Forty-six,  New  Cross  Street,  and  en- 
tered the  employ  of  a  neighbouring  dealer,  a  man  of 
far  more  liberal  mind  than  S.  Gedge  Antiques;  one 
who,  moreover,  well  understood  the  value  of  such  a 
servant. 

For  William,  it  was  a  terrible  wrench.  He  was  like 
a  plant  whose  roots  have  been  torn  from  the  soil.  With 
the  ardour  of  a  simple  character  he  had  loved  his 
master,  trusting  and  believing  in  him  to  an  extent  only 
possible  to  those  endowed  with  rare  felicity  of  nature. 
In  spite  of  himself  he  was  now  forced  to  accept  the 
hard  and  bitter  truth  that  the  old  man  upon  whom  he 
had  lavished  affection  was  not  only  a  miser,  but  some- 
thing worse.  When  the  passion  which  ruled  his  life 
was  fully  roused  he  was  tempted  to  anything. 

Life,  felt  William,  could  never  be  the  same  again. 
There  was  still  the  beauty  of  the  visible  universe,  the 
283 


284  THE   VAN    ROON 

pageantry  of  the  seasons  to  adore ;  the  harmony  and 
colour  of  the  world's  design  might  still  entrance  the 
senses  of  an  artist,  but  not  again  must  he  surrender  his 
being  entire  to  the  joy  of  abounding  in  these  wonders. 
It  was  the  duty  of  every  man  who  dwelt  upon  the  earth, 
however  humbly,  to  learn  something  of  the  hearts  of 
others.  One  could  only  live  apart,  it  seemed,  at  one's 
peril. 

While  in  the  lower  depths  and  beginning  to  despair 
of  seeing  June  again,  he  called  as  usual  at  the  Hospital 
one  afternoon,  to  be  greeted  by  the  long-hoped-for 
news  that  the  patient  had  taken  a  turn  for  the  better. 
Moreover  she  had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  see  him ;  and 
this  permission  was  now  given. 

Carrying  the  daily  bunch  of  flowers,  by  means  of 
which  June  had  already  recognized  his  care  for  her, 
he  was  led  along  the  ward  to  the  bed  in  which  she  lay. 
The  change  in  her  appearance  startled  him.  Little  re- 
mained of  the  whimsical  yet  high-spirited  and  practical 
girl  who  had  mocked  his  inefficiency  in  regard  to  the 
world  and  its  ways.  To  see  those  great  eyes  with  the 
horror  still  in  them  and  that  meagre  face,  dead  white 
amid  the  snow  of  its  pillows,  was  to  feel  a  tragic  tight- 
ening of  the  heart. 

Tears  ran  down  June's  cheeks  at  the  sight  of  the 
flowers.  "I  don't  deserve  your  goodness,"  she  said. 
"You  can't  guess  how  wicked  I  am." 

As  she  extended  to  him  her  thin  arms  he  found  it 
hard  to  rein  back  his  own  tears.  What  suffering  he 
had  unwittingly  brought  upon  this  poor  thing.  But  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  track  of  her  mind  which  even 
now  was  in  the  thrall  of  an  awful  nightmare.  God 
knew  in  what  darkness  it  was  still  plunged. 


THE   VAN    ROON  285 

Shuddering  convulsively  at  the  memories  his  voice 
and  his  presence  brought  to  her,  the  words  that  came 
to  her  lips  tore  his  heart.  "Am  I  struck?  Am  I  like 
the  Hoodoo?  Am  I  like  Uncle  Si?" 

To  him,  just  then,  this  wildness  was  hardly  more 
than  a  symptom  of  a  mind  deranged.  His  great  dis- 
tress did  not  allow  him  to  pursue  its  implication,  nor 
could  he  understand  the  nadir  of  the  soul  from  which  it 
sprang.  Yet  many  times  in  the  days  to  follow  he  was 
haunted  by  those  words.  They  came  to  him  in  his 
waking  hours  and  often  in  lieu  of  sleep  at  night. 

Returning  from  this  short  and  unhappy  interview 
to  his  new  home  at  Number  116,  New  Cross  Street, 
he  found  a  surprise  in  store.  A  visitor  had  called  to 
see  him  and,  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival,  was  on  the 
point  of  going  away. 

His  late  master,  looking  very  grey  and  frail,  had 
come  to  beg  him  to  return.  He  declared  that  he  was 
now  too  old  to  carry  on  alone.  Sight  and  hearing  were 
growing  worse.  He  had  another  quarrel  with  the 
char  and  had  been  obliged  to  send  her  permanently 
away,  although  the  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  an 
oppressed  female  had  risen  at  last  against  his  tyranny 
and  had  found  a  better  place. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques  was  now  a  figure  for  pity,  but 
William,  fresh  from  the  lacerating  presence  of  the  niece 
whom  he  had  so  cruelly  thrown  out  of  doors,  had  none 
to  give. 

The  whine  and  snuffle  of  their  last  meeting,  at  whose 
remembrance  rose  the  gorge  of  an  honest  man,  were 
no  more.  Instead  of  the  crocodile  tricks  were  now  the 
slow  tears  of  a  soul  in  agony.  The  truth  was,  this 
childless  and  friendless  old  man,  who  in  the  grip  of  the 


286  THE    VAN    ROON 

passion  that  had  eaten  away  his  life,  had  never  been 
able  to  spare  a  thought  for  his  kind,  simply  could  not 
do  without  the  one  human  being  he  had  learned  to  love. 

Their  relations,  as  the  old  miser  had  discovered,  were 
much  closer  than  those  of  servant  and  master.  William 
stood  for  youth,  for  the  seeing  mind,  for  cheerful,  self- 
less giving,  for  life  itself.  The  tones  of  his  voice, 
his  kindly  readiness,  his  tolerance  for  an  old  man's 
megrims;  even  the  sound  of  this  good  fellow  moving 
furniture  in  the  next  room  and  the  sense  of  him  about 
the  place  had  grown  to  mean  so  much  that,  now  they 
were  withdrawn,  all  other  things  grew  null. 

The  old  man  felt  now  that  he  could  not  go  on,  and 
at  any  other  moment,  the  force  of  his  appeal  might 
have  touched  the  gentle  nature  to  whom  it  was  made. 
But  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  S.  Gedge 
Antiques.  He  was  a  figure  to  move  the  heart,  as  he 
stood  in  the  shop  of  a  rival  dealer,  the  slow  tears  stain- 
ing his  thin  cheeks,  but  William  had  the  shadow  of  that 
other  figure  upon  him.  The  wreck  of  youth,  of  rea- 
son itself,  seemed  infinitely  more  tragic  than  the  falling 
of  the  temple  upon  the  priest  of  Baal  whose  wickedness 
had  brought  the  thing  to  pass. 

William  denied  his  master.  And  yet  hearing  him 
out  to  the  bitter  end,  he  was  unable  to  withhold  a  little 
pity.  All  feeling  for  the  old  man  was  dead ;  the  bedside 
from  which  he  had  just  come  had  finally  destroyed  the 
last  spark  of  his  affection,  yet  being  the  creature  he 
was,  he  could  not  sit  in  judgment. 

"I'll  pay  you  twice  what  you  are  getting  now  if 
you'll  return  to  me,"  said  the  old  man.  "As  I  say,  I 
can't  go  on."  He  peered  into  that  face  of  ever-deepen- 
ing distress.  "What  do  you  say,  boy?"  He  took  the 


THE   VAN    ROON  287 

hand  of  the  young  man  in  his  own,  as  a  father  might 
take  that  of  a  beloved  son.  "I'll  give  you  anything — 
if  you'll  come  back.  I  haven't  long  to  live.  Return 
to-night  and  I'll  leave  you  the  business.  Now  what  do 
you  say?" 

Had  it  been  human  to  forgive  at  such  a  moment,  S. 
Gedge  Antiques  would  have  been  forgiven.  But  Will- 
iam could  only  stand  dumb  and  unresponsive  before 
the  master  he  had  loved. 

"I'm  a  warm  man."  The  voice  of  the  old  dealer 
who  had  made  money  his  god,  sank  to  a  whisper  becom- 
ing a  theme  so  sacred.  "My  investments  have  turned 
out  well.  There's  no  saying  what  I  am  worth — but 
this  I'll  tell  you  in  strict  confidence — I  own  property." 
The  hushed  tone  was  barely  audible.  "In  fact  I  own 
nearly  half  my  own  side  of  this  street.  Now  what  do 
you  say?  Promise  to  come  back  to  me  to-night  and 
I'll  go  right  now  and  see  my  lawyer." 

The  young  man  stood  the  image  of  unhappiness. 

"Only  speak  the  word  and  you  shall  inherit  every 
stick  and  stone." 

It  was  a  moment  to  rend  the  heart  of  both,  but  the 
word  was  not  spoken.  For  the  second  time  that  after- 
noon William  was  hard  set  to  rein  back  his  tears ;  but 
he  had  not  the  power  to  yield  to  this  appeal. 

Overborne  by  the  knowledge  that  the  hand  of  Fate 
was  upon  him,  S.  Gedge  Antiques,  leaning  heavily  on 
his  knotted  stick,  moved  feebly  towards  the  dark  street. 


LVI 

WILLIAM  continued  his  daily  visits  to  the  Hos- 
pital, but  he  was  not  allowed  to  see  June.  Life 
itself  was  no  longer  in  immediate  danger,  but  she  had 
had  a  relapse  and  the  doctors  were  still  afraid  that 
the  mental  injury  would  be  permanent.  Time  alone 
could  prove  if  such  was  the  case  or  no,  but  the  mood 
induced  by  the  interview  with  William,  and  the  strange 
words  she  had  used  to  him,  which  seemed  to  belong  to 
some  fixed  and  secret  obsession,  were  not  a  good  sign. 

Following  his  visit  there  had  been  a  rise  of  tempera- 
ture. And  this  meant  further  weakening  of  a  terror- 
haunted  mind.  Even  if  the  need  for  anxiety  was  less 
acute,  full  recovery  at  best  would  be  slow  and  more  than 
ever  doubtful. 

June  was  still  menaced  by  the  shadow  when  an  event 
occurred  which  intensified  William's  distress.  One 
morning,  about  a  week  after  he  had  rejected  his  mas- 
ter's last  appeal,  an  inspector  of  police  came  to  see  him. 
Neighbours  of  S.  Gedge  Antiques  had  called  attention 
to  the  fact  that  the  shop  had  remained  closed  for  sev- 
eral days,  and  as  it  was  known  that  the  old  man  had 
lately  been  living  alone,  the  circumstance  had  given 
rise  to  a  certain  amount  of  suspicion.  William's  name 
had  been  mentioned  as  lately  in  his  employ  and  he  was 
asked  to  throw  what  light  he  could  on  the  mystery. 

"The  neighbours  think  we  ought  to  enter  the  shop 
288 


THE   VAN   ROON  289 

and  see  if  anything  has  happened,"  said  the  police  in- 
spector. 

William  thought  so  too.  Remembering  the  last  meet- 
ing with  his  master,  which  had  left  a  scar  he  would 
carry  to  the  grave,  a  kind  of  prophetic  foreknowledge 
came  to  him  now  of  a  new  development  to  this  tragedy. 

It  was  not  convenient  just  then  to  leave  the  shop  as 
he  happened  to  be  in  sole  charge  of  it,  therefore  he  was 
unable  to  accompany  the  inspector  down  the  street. 
But  half  an  hour  later,  on  the  return  of  his  new  em- 
ployer, curiosity  forced  him  to  put  on  his  hat  and  go 
forth  to  see  if  the  thing  he  feared  had  come  to  pass. 

The  police,  already,  had  made  an  entry  of  Number 
Forty-six.  Moreover  a  knot  of  people  was  assembled 
about  the  familiar  door,  which  was  half  open.  Its  shut- 
ters were  still  up,  but  two  constables  were  guarding  the 
precincts.  William  caught  the  words  "Murder — Sui- 
cide— Robbery"  as  he  came  up  with  the  throng. 

In  a  state  of  painful  excitement,  he  made  his  way 
to  the  door. 

S.  Gedge  Antiques,  it  seemed,  had  been  found  lying 
dead  on  the  shop  floor.  The  young  man  wished  to  pass 
in,  but  the  police  had  instructions  to  allow  no  one  to 
enter.  A  doctor  summoned  by  telephone,  had  not  yet 
come. 

William  was  still  discussing  the  matter,  when  the 
inspector  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  already, 
hearing  voices  at  the  door,  came  from  the  shop  interior 
to  see  if  it  was  the  doctor  who  had  at  last  arrived.  He 
recognized  William  at  once  and  invited  him  in. 

Outside  was  a  murky  November  day,  but  with  the 
windows  still  shuttered,  it  was  necessary  for  three 
rather  ineffectual  gas-jets  to  be  lit  in  the  shop.  The 


290  THE   VAN    ROON 

light  they  gave  was  weird  and  fitful,  but  it  sufficed  to 
enable  the  young  man  to  see  what  had  occurred. 

As  yet  the  body  had  not  been  touched.  In  accord- 
ance with  custom  in  such  cases,  it  had  to  lie  just  as  it 
was  until  viewed  by  a  doctor,  for  if  moved  by  unskilful 
hands,  some  possible  clue  as  to  the  cause  of  death  might 
be  obliterated. 

The  old  man  was  lying  supine,  before  the  Hoodoo. 
One  glance  at  that  face,  so  drawn,  so  thwarted,  and 
yet  so  pitiful  in  its  ghastliness,  was  enough  to  convince 
William  that  death  had  come  directly  from  the  hand  of 
God.  With  a  shiver  he  recalled  the  words  of  a  strange 
and  terrible  clairvoyance,  of  late  so  often  in  his  ears. 
"Am  I  struck?  Am  I  like  Uncle  Si?  Am  I  like  the 
Hoodoo?" 

As  the  old  man  lay  now,  in  all  the  starkness  of  his 
soul,  with  only  the  essence  shewing  in  that  tragic  face, 
William  was  overcome  by  his  likeness  to  the  image.  It 
was  as  if,  at  the  last,  his  very  nature  had  gone  out  to 
some  false  god  who  had  perverted  him.  That  splay- 
footed monster,  so  large  of  maw,  an  emblem  of  bestial 
greed,  was  too  plainly  a  symbol  of  the  mammon  of  un- 
righteousness to  which  the  master  had  devoted  his  life. 

Consumed  by  pity,  William  turned  away  from  a 
sight  which  he  was  no  longer  able  to  bear. 


LVII 

SPRING  came,  and  June  who  had  had  to  fight  for 
life  and  then  for  reason,  won  slowly  to  a  final 
sense  of  victory.  This  came  to  her  on  a  delicious  April 
day,  when  the  earth  waking  from  its  long  sleep,  was  re- 
newed with  the  joy  of  procreation.  Her  own  nature, 
which  had  passed  through  so  many  months  of  darkness, 
was  quickened  to  response  in  this  magic  hour. 

The  force  of  the  emotion  owed  much,  no  doubt,  to 
the  spirit  of  environment.  Life  had  begun  again  for 
June  under  conditions  different  from  any  she  had 
known.  Powerful  friends  had  been  gained  for  her  by 
a  singularly  romantic  story.  Of  certain  things  that  had 
happened  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  tell;  but  when 
as  much  of  the  truth  came  out  as  could  be  derived  from 
facts  precariously  pieced  together,  she  became  a  real 
heroine  in  the  sight  of  Sir  Arthur  Babraham  and  his 
daughter. 

But  for  her  courage  and  keen  wit  a  great  work  of 
art  might  have  passed  out  of  the  country  without  any- 
one being  the  wiser.  These  staunch  friends  were  de- 
termined that  justice  should  be  done  in  the  matter,  and 
kindly  folk  that  they  were,  did  not  spare  themselves  in 
the  long  and  difficult  task  of  restoring  her  to  health. 

The  middle  of  April  saw  her  installed  in  the  gar- 
dener's cottage  at  Homefield  in  the  care  of  a  motherly 
and  genial  housewife.  Here  she  almost  dared  to  be 
happy.  The  phantoms  of  the  long  night  were  being 
291 


292  THE   VAN    ROON 

dispersed  at  last  in  an  atmosphere  of  sunny  and  cordial 
well-being. 

Miss  Babraham,  who  walked  across  the  park  from 
the  house  every  morning  to  see  her,  had  become  a  sort 
of  fairy  godmother  whose  mission  was  to  see  that  she 
did  not  worry  about  anything.  She  must  give  her  days 
and  nights  to  the  duty  of  getting  well.  And  she  was 
going  to  be  rich. 

Riches,  alas,  for  June,  had  the  fairy  godmother  but 
known,  were  the  fly  in  the  ointment.  They  could  only 
arise  from  one  source,  and  around  it  must  always  hover 
the  black  storm  clouds.  She  had  no  real  right  to  the 
money  which  was  coming  to  her,  and  although  she 
had  no  means  apart  from  it,  she  felt  that  she  must 
never  accept  a  single  penny.  It  was  morbidly  unprac- 
tical perhaps,  but  there  the  feeling  was. 

When-  June  had  been  at  Homefield  about  a  week, 
Miss  Babraham  found  her  one  morning  in  the  sunny 
embrasure  of  the  pleasant  little  sitting  room  improving 
her  mind  by  a  happy  return  to  her  favourite  "Mill  on 
the  Floss."  In  passing  out  of  its  mental  eclipse,  the 
angle  of  June's  vision  had.  shifted  a  little;  her  ap- 
proach to  new  phases  of  experience  was  rather  more 
sympathetic  than  it  had  been.  Before  "that"  had  hap- 
pened, she  had  been-  inclined,  as  became  a  self-respect- 
ing member  of  the  Democracy  which  is  apt  to  deride 
what  it  does  not  comprehend,  to  be  a  little  contemptu- 
ous of  "Miss  Blue  Blood,"  a  creature  born  to  more  than 
a  fair  share  of  life's  good  things.  But  now  that  she 
knew  more  about  this  happy-natured  girl,  she  felt 
a  tolerance  of  which,  at  first,  she  was  just  a  little 
ashamed.  Envy  was  giving  place  to  something  else. 
Her  graces  and  her  air  of  fine  breeding,  which  June's 


THE   VAN    ROON  293 

own  caste  was  inclined  to  resent,  were  not  the  obvious 
fruits  of  expensive  clothes ;  in  fact,  -they  owed  far  less 
than  June  had  supposed  to  the  length  of  the  purse  be- 
hind them. 

The  kindness,  the  charm,  the  sympathy  were  more 
than  skin  deep.  In  the  first  place,  no  doubt  their  pos- 
sessor had  been  born  under  a  lucky  star ;  much  of  her 
quality  was  rooted  inevitably  in  the  fact  that  she  was 
her  father's  daughter  yet  the  invalid  could  not  gainsay 
that  "Miss  Blue  Blood"  had  manners  of  the  heart. 
Now  that  June  saw  her  in  her  own  setting  among  her 
own  people  this  golden  truth  shone  clear.  And  in  the 
many  talks  June  had  with  her  good  hostess,  Mrs. 
Chrystal,  the  wife  of  Sir  Arthur's  head  gardener,  one 
radiant  fact  rose -bright  and  free:  there  was  none  like 
Miss  Babraham.  Her  peer  was  not  to  be  found  on  the 
wide  earth. 

No  doubt  there  were  spots  on  this  sun  as  there  are 
spots  on  other  suns,  but  June  agreed  that  as  far  as 
Miss  Babraham  was  concerned  these  blemishes  were 
hidden  from  mortal  eye.  And  each  day  gave  cogency 
to  such  a  view.  This  morning,  for  example,  the  dis- 
tinguished visitor  was  brimming  with  kindliness.  She 
talked  simply  and  sincerely,  without  patronage  or  frills 
upon  the  subjects  in  which  June  was  now  interested. 
She  had  read  all  George  Eliot  and  gave  as  the  sum  of 
her  experience  that  the  "Mill  on  the  Floss"  was  the 
story  she  liked  best,  although  her  father  preferred 
"Adam  Bede"  or  "Silas  Marner." 

"Before  my  illness,"  said  June,  "I  was  getting  to 
think  that  all  novels  were  silly  and  a  waste  of  time. 
But  I  see  now  that  you  can  learn  a  lot  about  life  from 
a  good  one." 


294  THE    VAN    ROON 

She  was  in  a  very  serious  mood.  Like  most  people 
who  have  not  the  gift  of  "taking  things  in  their  stride" 
new  orientations  were  a  heavy  business.  At  school,  as 
a  little  girl,  she  had  shed  many  tears  over  her  arith- 
metic. The  process  of  mind  improvement  was  not  to 
be  undertaken  lightly.  She  could  never  be  a  Miss  Ba- 
braham,  but  her  ambition,  in  the  words  of  her  favourite 
song,  was  to  be  as  like  her  as  she  was  able  to  be. 

Like  true  poets,  however,  Miss  Babrahams  were 
born.  Such  graces  came  from  an  inner  harmony  of 
nature.  All  the  best  fairies  must  have  flocked  to  her 
christening.  One  minor  gift  she  had  which  June  al- 
lowed herself  to  covet,  since  it  might  fall  within  the 
scope  of  common  mortals ;  it  was  the  way  in  which  her 
maid  arranged  her  hair.  June's  own  famous  mane, 
which  indirectly  had  brought  such  suffering  upon  her, 
had  mercifully  been  spared;  it  had  not  even  been 
"bobbed,"  and  with  careful  tendence  might  again 
achieve  its  old  magnificence.  As  shyly  she  confessed 
this  ambition,  which  sprang  less  from  vanity  than 
simple  pride  in  her  one  "asset,"  Miss  Babraham  as- 
sured her  that  nothing  could  be  nicer  than  her  own  way 
of  doing  it 

From  hair  and  the  art  of  treating  it  they  passed  to 
other  intimate  topics;  frocks  and  the  hang  of  them; 
the  knack  of  putting  things  on,  in  which  Miss  Babra- 
ham's  gift  of  style  filled  June  with  envy  since  that,  alas, 
she  would  never  be  able  to  copy;  and  above  all,  her 
friend's  wonderful  faculty  of  looking  her  best  on  all 
occasions. 

As  the  good  fairy,  after  a  stay  of  a  full  hour,  rose 
to  go,  she  said,  "If  to-morrow  morning  is  as  fine  as  this 
morning,  do  you  think  you  could  come  over  to  us? 


THE   VAN   ROON  295 

You  know  the  way.  It's  an  easy  walk  of  less  than  half 
a  mile." 

June  was  sure  she  could. 

"Please  do,  if  you  won't  find  it  trying.  Come  about 
eleven.  And  I  hope,"  said  the  good  fairy,  casting 
back  her  charming  smile  as  she  was  about  to  pass  out 
of  the  sitting-room  door,  "there  may  be  a  pleasant  little 
surprise  for  you." 

During  the  last  few  weeks  June  had  known  in  abun- 
dance the  agreeably  unexpected.  And  though  at  inter- 
vals during  the  rest  of  the  fair  spring  day,  her  mind 
toyed  with  this  new  "surprise,"  she  was  not  able  to 
guess  what  it  was  going  to  be. 


LVIII 

ELEVEN  o'clock  the  next  morning  saw  June, 
dressed  very  carefully  indeed,  before  the  portals 
of  the  House.  She  had  come  well.  Excitement  had 
made  her  feel  quite  strong  again;  moreover  she  had 
been  promised  a  reward  for  the  effort  she  was  making. 
Apart  from  that  besides,  it  was  the  biggest  feat  of  her 
social  life,  so  far,  to  press  the  bell  of  such  a  noble 
door. 

The  servant  who  answered  it  was  not  too  proud  to 
shew  by  his  air  of  prompt  courtesy  that  her  coming 
was  anticipated.  She  was  led  across  a  glorious  hall — 
all  black  oak,  family  portraits,  heads  of  deer  and  suits 
of  armour,  with  an  open  gallery  running  round  the  top, 
like  a  scene  on  the  movies — up  a  wide  staircase,  laid 
with  a  carpet  thick  and  subtle  to  the  tread,  along  a 
corridor  into  a  room  of  great  length  whose  glass  roof 
gave  a  wonderful  light.  Many  pictures  hung  upon  its 
walls.  June  was  thrilled  at  the  moment  she  found  her- 
self in  it,  for  this  she  felt  sure,  was  the  famous  Long 
Gallery. 

The  thrill  was  not  confined,  however,  to  the  room. 
When  she  entered,  June  thought  it  was  empty,  but  a 
look  round  disclosed  at  the  far  end  a  tall  young  man 
in  a  familiar  attitude  of  rapt  absorption.  Only  one 
person  since  the  world  began  could  have  been  so  lost  to 
the  present  in  sheer  force  of  contemplating  a  mere 
relic  of  the  past 

296 


THE   VAN    ROON  297 

It  was  a  rare  bit  of  contrivance,  all  the  same,  on  the 
part  of  Miss  Babraham.  Here,  before  June,  was  the 
Sawney,  raised  to  his  highest  power.  The  fairy  god- 
mother had  made  a  pass  with  her  magic  wand  and 
William  the  amazing  stood  before  her  in  the  flesh. 

He  was  too  far  from  the  door  and  too  rapt  in  adora- 
tion of  the  masterpiece  at  which  he  was  gazing,  to  have 
heard  June  come  in.  And  so,  before  he  saw  her,  she 
had  time  to  grow  nervous  and  this  was  a  pity.  For  so 
effectively  had  the  mine  been  sprung  that  she  had  need 
just  now  of  all  her  courage. 

A  good  deal  of  water  had  recently  flowed  under  the 
bridge.  It  was  as  if  a  hundred  years  had  passed  since 
she  had  dared  to  label  him  a  Sawney.  He  had  grown 
up  and  she  had  grown  down.  So  far  away  was  the 
time  of  their  equality,  if  such  a  time  had  ever  really 
been,  that  she  was  just  a  shade  in  awe  of  him  now. 

Many  hours  had  he  spent  by  her  bed.  It  was  perhaps 
due  to  him  that  she  had  emerged  at  last  from  the  chasm 
which  so  long  and  so  grimly  threatened  to  engulf  her. 
His  royal  yet  gentle  nature  had  a  true  power  of  heal- 
ing. The  look  in  his  eyes,  the  music  of  his  voice,  the 
poetry  of  his  thoughts,  the  charm  of  his  mere  presence, 
had  borne  him  to  a  plane  far  above  that  of  common 
people  like  herself.  If  Miss  Babraham  was  a  fairy 
godmother,  this  young  man  was  surely  the  true  prince. 

Beyond  anyone  she  had  ever  known  he  had  a  per- 
ception of  those  large  and  deep  things  of  sky  and  earth, 
which  alone,  as  it  seemed  to  her  now,  made  life  worth 
while.  He  was  the  prophet  of  the  beautiful  in  deed 
as  in  word.  During  the  long  night  through  which  she 
had  passed,  the  sense  of  her  inferiority  had  been  not 
the  least  of  her  sorrows. 


298  THE   VAN    ROON 

That  sense  returned  upon  her  now  as  she  stood  tim- 
idly by  the  door  through  which  she  had  come,  watching 
the  beams  of  an  April  sun,  almost  as  shy  as  herself, 
weave  an  aureole  for  him.  Here  was.  the  god  of  her 
dreams;  she  who  lately  had  known  no  god  and  who 
long  ago  had  taught  herself  to  despise  all  forms  of 
dreaming. 

At  last  he  turned  and  saw  her. 

"You !"    He  sprang  towards  her  with  an  eager  cry. 

Brilliant  stage  management.  But  by  fate's  per- 
versity, the  players,  somehow,  were  not  quite  equal  to 
their  parts.  June's  shy  timidity  communicated  itself 
at  once  to  this  sensitive  plant.  There  was  not  a  ghost 
of  a  reason  why  he  should  not  have  taken  her  in  his 
arms,  for  he  had  come  to  love  her  tenderly.  The  act 
had  been  devised  for  him,  the  deed  expected,  but  this 
young  man  was  less  wise  in  some  things  than  in  others. 
Deep  as  he  could  look  into  hidden  mysteries,  there  was 
certainly  one  mystery  whose  heart  he  could  not  read. 

June's  odd  confusion  summoned  a  mistaken  chivalry. 
Broken  in  -spirit,  poor  soul,  by  what  she  had  been 
through,  she  could  no  longer  defend  herself ;  he  must 
be,  therefore,  very  gentle.  It  would  have  been  easier 
to  tackle  the  Miss  June  of  New  Cross  Street,  the 
rather  imperious  and  sharp-tongued  niece  of  his  late 
employer,  than  this  quivering  storm-beaten  flower. 

With  all  his  genius  it  was  to  be  feared  he  would  al- 
ways be  a  Sawney. 

"How  are  you  getting  on  Miss  June?"  he  said  lamely. 
"You  look  very  thin,  but  you've  got  quite  a  colour." 

Something  of  the  gawklike  New  Cross  Street  man- 
ner, which  compared  ill  with  Miss  Babraham's  tact  and 
finesse  was  in  this  greeting.  Phoebus  Apollo  took  a 


THE   VAN    ROON  299 

sudden  nose-dive.  He  came,  in  fact,  within  an  ace 
of  a  crash. 

June's  cheeks  grew  flame-colour.  An  idiot  less 
divine  would  have  given  her  a  kiss  and  have  had  done 
with  it,  but  in  some  ways  he  was  a  shocking  dunce. 

"I  expect  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  here,  aren't 
you?" 

She  could  but  stammer  that  she  was  very  much 
surprised. 

"Sir  Arthur  has  asked  me  to  re-hang  some  of  these." 
A  rather  proud  wave  of  the  hand  towards  those  august 
walls  shewed  that  he  was  human.  "And  he  has  com- 
missioned me" — She  heard  again  that  dying  fall  which 
always  touched  her  ear  with  ecstasy — "to  go  over  this 
Jan  Vermeer  most  carefully  with  warm  water  and 
cotton  wool." 

June  knitted  her  brow  in  order  to  accompany  his 
finger  in  its  mystical  course. 

"A  Jan  what?"  she  said,  achieving  a  frown.  Had 
it  been  possible  at  this  early  stage  of  convalescence  to 
achieve  a  note  of  reproof,  that  authentic  touch  would 
not  have  been  lacking. 

William's  the  blame  for  a  lost  opportunity.  But  life 
is  f  ull-of  gaffes  on  the  part  of  those  who  ought  to  know 
better.  The  ability  of  William  was  beyond  dispute. 
Miss  Babraham  had  acclaimed  it,  whereby  she  was  no 
more  than  the  mouthpiece  of  her  father,  that  famous 
connoisseur  who  said  openly  that  the  discoverer  of  the 
Van  Roon  was  a  genius.  To  Sir  Arthur  it  was  miracu- 
lous that  a  tiro  should  expose  the  treasure  to  the  view  in 
a  fashion  so  accomplished.  It  hardly  seemed  possible 
to  remove  the  burdens  of  overgrowth  laid  by  time  and 
the  vandal  fingers  of  inferior  artists  upon  that  delicate 


300  THE   VAN    ROON 

surface  without  damage  to  the  fabric.  Yet  experts  had 
declared  the  thing  to  be  not  a  penny  the  worse  for  all 
the  processes  it  had  been  through ;  and  on  the  strength 
of  this  amazing  skill,  the  owner  of  Homefield  had  de- 
cided to  entrust  to  those  inspired  hands,  one  of  his 
cherished  Vermeers. 


LIX 

TOGETHER  they  went  round  the  Long  Gallery, 
gazing  at  the  treasure  on  its  walls,  which  to  him 
meant  so  much,  to  her  so  little.  She  tried  to  see  it  with 
his  eyes  or  if  this  could  not  be,  at  least  get  some  clue 
to  the  quality  which  made  quite  ordinary  looking  ob- 
jects the  things  they  were. 

Who  could  have  believed  that  an  old  and  dirty  thing 
which  she  had  heard  even  Uncle  Si  describe  as  a  daub, 
would  turn  out  to  be  a  fortune  ?  Other  fortunes  were 
here  to  gaze  upon,  but  why  they  were  so  precious  would 
always  be  for  June  a  mystery  of  mysteries.  Even  with 
William's  help  it  was  a  subject  on  which  she  could 
never  be  really  wise.  She  had  now  a  great  desire  to 
reach  out  after  Culture ;  the  "Mill  on  -the  Floss"  was 
most  stimulating  to  the  mind ;  but  just  now  she  felt,  in 
Blackhampton  phrase,  that  already  "she  had  bitten 
off  more  than  she  could  chew." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  presence  of  William  which  had 
induced  a  mood  of  great  complexity.  Old  unhappy 
things  were  flooding  back.  And  as  they  walked  slowly 
round  the  Gallery,  an  object  at  its  extreme  end  sud- 
denly sprang  into  view,  which  brought  her  up  with 
an  icy  gasp.  The  Hoodoo  was  grinning  at  her. 

In  its  new  setting  the  monster  was  merely  grotesque. 
Retrieved  from  the  morose  interior  of  Number  Forty- 
six,  New  Cross  Street,  which  it  had  darkened  so  long 
with  its  malice,  it  was  no  longer  an  active  embodiment 
301 


302  THE    VAN    ROON 

of  evil.  The  force  of  its  ugliness  was  less,  yet  for 
June,  in  a  subtle  way,  the  implication  of  its  presence 
was  more. 

It  was  as  if  the  Fates  were  saying  to 'her:  "We  are 
watching  you,  my  girl.  This  young  man,  whom  now 
you  dare  to  love,  have  you  not  tricked  him  out  of  his 
patrimony  by  your  pretended  worship  of  beauty? 
Share -his  ecstasy,  if  you  please,  of  his  Peter  This  and 
his  Mathew  That,  but  don't  forget  that  Our  eye  is  still 
upon  you.  What  you  have  already  received  you  will 
long  remember,  but  you  may  get  another  dose  if  you 
are  not  careful." 

Hearing  words  to  this  sinister  effect  in  the  secret 
places  of  Tier  soul,  June  could  only  shiver.  William, 
now  as  conscious  of  the  invalid's  frailty  as  of  the  im- 
perious challenge  of  beauty,  led  her  at  once  to  a  seat 
without  seeking  the  cause  of  'her  distress. 

He  saw  she  was  still  very  weak  and  hastened  there- 
fore to  set  her  down- on  a  chair  of  the  Empire,  heedless 
of  .the  fact  that  she  was  almost  cheek  by  jowl  with  the 
Hoodoo. 

"Mustn't  tire  yourself,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  rare 
sympathy  which  did  but  add  to  the  feeling  of  misery 
that  crept  upon  her.  "I'm  afraid  you've  walked  a  bit 
too  far." 

Again  June  shivered.  The  old  unhappy  things  were 
threatening  once  more  to  submerge  her.  "How  I  wish 
That  had  not  come  here,"  she  said  dismally.  There 
was  no  need  to  point  at  the  Image ;  she  was  sure  that 
he  knew  what  she  meant. 

But  amazing  young  man  that  he  was,  this  was  trying 
him  a  little  too  highly. 

"Oh,  you  mean  the  James,"  he  said  pointing  to  a 


THE    VAN    ROON  303 

windmill  opposite.  "He  isn't  a  Mathew,  is  he?  I'm 
so  glad,  Miss  June,  you  think  that  too,  because  with 
you  to  back  me,  I  may  be  able  to  break  it  to  Sir 
Arthur,  that  this  isn't  quite  the  place  for  him." 

Divine  humility !  Mad  confusion !  Had  she  but  felt 
a  little  stronger,  a  little  less  unhappy,  she  really  could 
have  shaken  him. 

"I  mean  the  Hoodoo,"  she  said  woefully. 

Her  wild  bird's  heart  went  quick  and  high  as  she 
saw  him  turn  casually  and  enfold  That  with  a  slow 
smile.  "Right  again,"  he  said,  his  head  a  little  to  one 
side  in  pure  connoisseurship,  a  trick  she  had  learned 
to  watch  for.  "I  quite  agree  with  you — the  old  fool 
swallows  more  than  his  share  of  this  beautiful  light." 

June  was  not  thinking  of  the  beautiful  light.  She 
was  trembling  in  spirit;  but  one  of  his  nature  could 
Hot  be  expected  to  know  what  demons  from  the  abyss 
were  invading  her.  "How  I  wish  it  was  somewhere 
else." 

His  laugh  of  gay  agreement  was  suddenly  checked 
as  he  caught  the  look  in  her  eyes  and  in  the  next 
instant  he  saw  the  old  man  lying  dead  at  the  foot  of 
the  Hoodoo. 

It  was  like  the  passing  of  a  cloud  across  the  sun. 
Life  for  him,  also,  had  found  another  notation  in  these 
terrible  months.  He  had  been  through  a  hard  school. 
Certain  lines  in  his  face  were  deeper  and  there  were 
hollows  under  his  eyes.  Never  again  must  he  allow  the 
ideal  to  run  so  far  ahead  of  the  real.  Yet  in  this  harsh 
moment  the  power  of  his  nature  kept  him  up. 

He  was  able  to  pierce  to  the  true  reason  for  June's 
deadly  pallor.  It  was  not  wholly  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  was  still  weak  or  that  she  had  walked  too  far. 


304  THE   VAN    ROON 

Trolls  even  now  were  in  her  brain.  With  his  instinct 
for  healing  he  must  do  his  utmost  to  cast  them  out. 

"We'll  try  to  persuade  Miss  Babraham  to  have  him 
put  in  the  garden." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  the  words  when  the  fairy 
godmother,  accompanied  by  Sir  Arthur  Babraham, 
entered  the  Long  Gallery. 


LX 


O  here  you  are!" 

But  the  light  note  of  Miss  Babraham's  greet- 
ing changed  to  a  quick  concern  as  a  feminine  eye  saw 
at  a  glance  that  June  was  looking  "done." 

"Now  don't  get  up,  please.  I  am  going  to  be  quite 
angry  with  myself  if  your  walk  has  made  you  over- 
tired." 

June,  a  new  shyness  upon  her,  which  the  presence 
of  Sir  Arthur  made  much  worse,  found  it  very  difficult 
to  speak. 

"I  hope  you  are  cultivating  a  taste  for  chicken  and 
new  laid  eggs,"  said  the  kindly  gentleman.  "And  for 
a  glass  of  wine  to  your  meals — which  I  always  say  is 
what  has  made  Old  England  the  country  she  is." 
Finding  his  jolly  laugh  was  less  effective  than  usual, 
he  pointed  to  the  Hoodoo  in  the  tactful  hope  of  putting 
an  embarrassed  girl  at  her  ease.  "There's  an  old  friend 
I'm  sure  you  recognize."  June's  distress,  however, 
grew  rapidly  worse  and  Sir  Arthur  made  a  fresh  cast. 
"I'm  not  sure  all  the  same,"  he  said  to  William  in  a 
laughing  aside,  "that  the  old  fellow  can  be  allowed  to 
stay  here.  Tell  me,  what  is  your  candid  opinion?" 

"We've  been  wondering,  sir,  if  he  wouldn't  look 
better  in  the  garden." 

Miss   Babraham   caught   gaily   at    the    suggestion. 
"The  very  place  for  the  jar  of  Knossos.    And  perhaps 
Miss  June  and  Mr.  William  will  plant  a  myrtle  in  it." 
305 


306  THE   VAN    ROON 

"A  myrtle,"  said  Sir  Arthur.  "In  that  chap — a 
myrtle?"  He  plucked  at  his  moustache  and  looked 
at  the  laughing  Laura.  "Why — pray — a  myrtle?" 

"Papa,  how  dense  you  are !" 

A  hit  clean  and  fair,  which  after  a  very  little  thought 
Sir  Arthur  was  man  enough  to  own.  His  one  excuse, 
and  a  poor  one,  was  that  in  certain  things  the  sex  to 
which  he  had  the  misfortune  to  belong,  was  notoriously 
"slow  in  the  uptake." 

It  was  now  William's  turn  to  acclaim  the  idea. 
Blushing  deeply  said  that  quaint  and  whimsical  young 
man:  "Yes,  Miss  Babraham,  with  your  permission  we 
will  plant  a  myrtle  in  the  jar  of  Knossos." 

In  the  laugh  which  followed  June  did  not  share; 
just  now  her  feeling  was  that  she  would  never  be  able 
to  laugh  again. 

Sir  Arthur,  still  tactful,  now  conceived  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  cheer  the  poor  girl  up.  "By  the  way,"  he  said, 
"has  my  daughter  told  you  what  we  propose  to  do  with 
your  Van  Roon?  Of  course  with  your  permission." 

June  simply  longed  for  the  power  to  say  that  it  was 
not  for  her  to  give  the  permission  as  the  Van  Roon 
was  not  hers.  But  she  was  living  just  now  in  a  kind  of 
dream  in  which  action  and  speech  had  no  part.  The 
only  thing  she  could  do  was  to  listen  passively  to  the 
voice  of  Sir  Arthur,  while  it  leisurely  unfolded  a  tale 
of  fairyland. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  he  said,  "subject  to  your  approval 
— always,  of  course,  subject  to  ilmt — we  have  formed  a 
sort  of  committee  to  deal  with  this  picture  of  yours. 
It  has  given  rise  to  a  rather  curious  position.  We  think 
— three  or  four  of  us — that  it  ought  to  be  acquired  for 
the  nation ;  but  of  course  there's  the  question  of  price. 


THE    VAN    ROON  307 

If  the  work  is  put  up  at  auction,  it  may  fetch  more 
than  we  should  feel  justified  in  paying.  Sentiment  of 
course;  but  nowadays  sentiment  plays  a  big  part  in 
these  matters.  On  the  other  hand,  having  regard  to  the 
obscurity  of  its  origin,  it  might  be  knocked  down  for 
considerably  less  than  it  is  intrinsically  worth.  All  the 
same  we  are  quite  convinced  that  it  is  a  very  choice 
example  of  a  great  master,  and  that  the  place  for  it  is 
the  National  Gallery,  where  another  Van  Roon  is  badly 
needed.  Now  I  hope  you  see  the  dilemma.  If  the 
nation  enters  the  market  a  definite  buyer,  the  thing  may 
soar  to  a  preposterous  sum.  At  the  same  time,  we 
don't  want  the  nation  to  acquire  it  for  less  than  its  real 
value.  So  the  question  in  a  nutshell  is,  will  you  accept 
a  private  arbitration  or  do  you  prefer  to  run  the  risk  of 
getting  comparatively  little  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  an 
extra  ten  thousand  pounds  or  so?" 

June  followed  the  argument  as  closely  as  she  could, 
and  at  the  end  of  it  burst  into  wild  tears. 

"The  picture  is  not  mine,"  she  sobbed.  "It  doesn't 
belong  to  me." 

It  was  a  moment  of  keen  embarrassment.  Sir 
Arthur,  who  had  doubted  from  the  first,  was  hardly  to 
be  blamed  for  beginning  to  doubt  again.  Such  an 
outburst  was  the  oddest  confirmation  of  his  first  sus- 
picion, which  conspiring  Circumstance  had  enabled  him 
perhaps  too  easily  to  forget.  But  Laura's  faith  was 
quite  unshaken.  For  her  the  question  of  ownership 
had  been  settled  once  and  for  all.  The  poor  thing  was 
overwrought,  overdriven ;  it  was  so  like  the  tactless 
father  of  hers,  to  worry  the  girl  with  all  kinds  of  tire- 
some details  when  he  should  have  known  that  she  was 
not  strong  enough  to  grapple  with  them. 


308  THE   VAN    ROON 

"Come,  papa/'  said  Laura  Babraham  with  reproof  in 
a  clear  grey  eye.  "If  we  don't  go  at  once  and  look  at 
that  herbaceous  border  we  shall  certainly  be  late  for 
luncheon." 


LXI 

LEFT  to  themselves  once  more,  it  became  William's 
task  to  comfort  June's  distress.  Like  Sir  Arthur, 
he  too,  it  seemed,  could  be  tactful.  Instead  of  discuss- 
ing the  question  of  the  Van  Roon's  ownership  or  the 
unlucky  presence  of  the  Hoodoo,  he  began  gently  to 
discourse  of  Mathew  Maris. 

As  far  as  June  was  concerned  he  might  as  well  have 
discoursed  of  the  moon.  In  the  first  place  she  had 
never  heard  of  Mathew  Maris ;  and  in  the  second  she 
was  consumed  by  a  desire  to  settle  forever  the  question 
of  the  Van  Roon  which  was  now  tormenting  her  like  a 
fire.  This  was  a  dynamic  moment,  when  great  deci- 
sions are  reached  with  startling  abruptness  and  half  a 
lifetime  may  be  lived  in  half  a  minute. 

Mathew  Maris  was  not  for  June  just  now.  Sud- 
denly she  broke  again  into  wild  sobs. 

"I  cheated  you,  I  tricked  you  over  that  picture." 

Again,  good  honest  fellow,  he  tried  to  change  the 
current  of  this  mind  distraught.  But  it  was  not  to 
be. 

"You  gave  it  me,  didn't  you,  because  I  made  you 
think  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  it?  But  I  hadn't.  It 
meant  nothing  to  me — not  in  that  way." 

He  stood  an  image  of  dismay,  but  he  had  to 
listen. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  I  did  that?  I'll  tell  you.  I 
overheard  Uncle  Si  talking  to  a  dealer.  You  remember, 
309 


310  THE   VAN   ROON 

don't  you,  the  funny  crooked  little  man  in  the  knitted 
comforter  and  the  brown  billycock  whom  I  used  to  call 
Foxy  Face?  One  morning  when  you  were  out  he 
offered  Uncle  Si  five  pounds  for  it  and  Uncle  Si  said 
it  might  be  worth  a  good  deal  more.  That's  why  I 
decided  to  get  hold  of  it  if  I  could,  before  Uncle  Si 
got  it  from  you.  And  that's  why  I  cracked  it  up  and 
made  you  think  I  could  see  all  sorts  of  wonders  in  it, 
when  all  the  time  I  saw  no  more  beauty  in  it  than  there 
is  in  That."  And  she  pointed  to  the  Hoodoo. 

William  gave  a  little  gasp.  June  heard  the  gasp. 
And  in  the  mad  unhappiness  of  that  moment  she  de- 
termined to  spare  herself  nothing.  She  would  strip 
herself  bare  so  that  the  whip  might  be  better  laid  on. 

"Beauty  means  no  more  to  me  than  it  does  to  that 
Thing  there.  All  your  talk  about  Hobbemas  and 
Marises  and  Vermeers  and  Cromes  are  to  me  just 
sloppy.  They  bore  me  stiff  every  time.  I  hate  the 
sight  of  all  these  things."  The  wave  of  a  wildly 
tragic  hand  included  all  the  masterpieces  in  the  Long 
Gallery.  "I  hate  them!  I  hate  them!  So  now  you 
know  the  mean  and  dirty  liar  that  I  am." 

No  longer  able  to  bear  the  sound  of  her  strange  and 
terrible  words  he  turned  sickly  away.  It  was  almost 
as  if  they  had  opened  a  vein  in  his  heart.  He  remem- 
bered again  the  cry  that  had  haunted  him  after  his 
seeing  her  first  at  the  Hospital.  "Am  I  struck?  Am  I 
like  Uncle  Si?  Am  I  like  the  Hoodoo?" 

Poor  soul!  It  was  not  for  him  to  judge  her.  He 
could  only  think  of  her  sufferings.  And  it  was  cruel 
indeed  to  realize  what  they  must  be  now. 

"That's  why  I  don't  want  the  money.  And  that's 
why  I  don't  mean  to  have  it.  I  burn  when  I  think  of 


THE   VAN    ROON  311 

it.    Now  you  know  how  low  down  I  am.    I  hope  you 
like  the  way  I've  cheated  you." 

He  sought  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  withdrew  it 
fiercely.    His  very  goodness  almost  made  her  hate  him. 


LXII 

BY  the  advice  of  Miss  Babraham  they  planted  a 
myrtle  in  the  jar  of  Knossos.  Some  days  later 
the  Hoodoo  was  haled  into  a  convenient  corner  of  the 
Italian  garden.  Here,  by  the  marge  of  a  tiny  rock- 
strewn  lake,  the  momentous  rite  was  performed  with  a 
high  solemnity.  Much  displacement  of  mould  and  a 
considerable  wheelbarrowing  of  the  same  was  neces- 
sary and  Mr.  Chrystal,  the  head  gardener,  had  to  ad- 
vise in  the  use  of  the  trowel,  an  art  in  which  neither 
June  nor  William  was  quite  so  adept  as  they  might 
have  been.  But  at  last,  after  some  honest  digging  and 
shovelling  on  the  part  of  William  who  was  not  afraid 
to  take  off  his  coat  to  the  job,  and  timely  help  from 
Mr.  Chrystal's  George  who  was  uncannily  wise,  al- 
though to  be  sure  he  had  the  experience  of  a  lifetime 
and  a  fairly  long  one  to  bring  to  bear  on  such  matters, 
the  thing  was  done. 

June  and  William  then  retired  to  the  fragrant  shade 
of  a  budding  lime,  feeling  rather  hot,  yet  not  dissatis- 
fied with  their  labours.  It  was  a  perfect  morning. 
Larks  were  hovering  in  the  bright  air.  Blackbirds  and 
thrushes  were  trying  out  their  grace-notes,  and  once 
June  thought  she  heard  a  nightingale. 

For  a  little  they  reclined  in  poetic  comfort  in  two 
wicker  chairs.  Fauns  in  marble,  and  Cupid,  complete 
with  bow  and  arrows  lurked  hard  by.  At  last  June 
broke  a  delicious  silence. 

312 


THE    VAN    ROON  313 

"You  must  put  your  coat  on,"  she  said  suddenly. 

"But "  said  William  who  really  had  delved  and 

shovelled  to  some  purpose. 

June  was  not  to  be  Butted — not  this  golden  day. 

"If  you  don't  you  might  get  a  bad  chill,"  she  said 
severely. 

William  rose  and  did  her  bidding.  And  in  the  midst 
of  that  simple  act,  a  certain  piece  of  confidential  infor- 
mation, which  Sir  Arthur  and  Miss  Laura  had  been 
kind  enough  to  supply  at  frequent  intervals  during  the 
last  few  days,  recurred  forcibly  to  his  mind.  It  was  to 
the  effect  that  "Miss  Gedge  was  so  practical  she  would 
make  an  ideal  wife  for  an  artist." 

As  far  as  the  major  premise  was  concerned  it  was 
less  irrelevant  than  at  first  it  might  seem,  for  William 
had  recently  decided  that  an  artist  was  what  he  was 
going  to  be.  In  the  very  act  of  putting  on  his  coat 
he  now  recalled  the  high  and  sacred  mystery  to  which 
his  life  was  vowed.  And  further  he  recalled  that  be- 
fore entering  the  garden  he  had  taken  the  precaution 
of  slipping  a  neat  little  sketching  book  and  pencil  into 
his  coat  pocket.  Thus,  upon  sitting  down,  in  solemn 
silence  he  took  them  forth  and  proceeded  to  draw. 

June  it  was  who  broke  the  silence,  after  some  little 
while. 

"If  you  are  drawing  that  myrtle,"  she  said,  "it  looks 
a  bit  potty  to  me  stuck  up  there.  There's  nothing 
to  it." 

She  was  more  her  true  self  this  happy  morning  than 
for  many  a  tragic  month. 

"It'll  grow. "  said  the  artist. 

"Won't  seem  much  if  it  doesn't  in  that  great  jar. 
It  was  Miss  Babraham's  idea  to  stick  it  there,  so  it's 


314  THE   VAN    ROON 

all  right  of  course.  She  said  it  was  an  emblem  of 
what  was  it  ?" 

"Of  marriage,"  said  the  artist  with  an  air  of  innocent 
abstraction. 

"Then  she  ought  to  have  planted  it  herself — if  she 
is  going  to  be  married." 

"On  the  first  of  July.    They've  fixed  the  day." 

"Oh,"  said  June.    "Have  you  seen  her  young  man?" 

"He  came  to  lunch  yesterday." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"The  Honourable  Barrington,  a  gentleman  in  the 
Blues." 

June  frowned  portentously.  "I  hope  he'll  be  good 
enough  for  her."  But  she  didn't  sound  very  hopeful. 

"He's  a  very  nice  gentleman." 

"Ought  to  be  if  he's  going  to  marry  her.  But  what 
I  should  like  to  know  is,  why  was  she  so  set  on  you  and 
me  planting  that  myrtle  when  she  ought  to  have  planted 
it  herself." 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,  Miss  June,"  said  the  artist, 
not  so  much  as  glancing  up  from  his  work. 

Once  a  Sawney  always  a  Sawney.  Perennially,  it 
seemed,  was  she  up  against  the  relentless  workings  of 
that  natural  law.  Marriage,  money,  commonsense,  the 
really  big  things  of  life,  meant  so  little  to  him  compared 
with  windmills  and  myrtles,  and  things  of  that  kind. 
Like  her  beloved  Miss  Babraham,  this  dear  and  charm- 
ing fellow  was  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  but  day  by 
day  the  conviction  was  growing  upon  her  that  he  really 
did  need  somebody  practical  to  look  after  him.  And 
she  was  not  alone  in  thinking  so.  Miss  Babraham, 
who  knew  so  much  about  everything,  had  already  ex- 
pressed that  opinion  to  her  quite  strongly. 


THE   VAN   ROON  315 

Here  he  was,  in  the  middle  of  a  perfect  morning, 
with  all  sorts  of  really  beautiful  things  about  him,  and 
larks  and  blackbirds  quiring,  and  the  sun  on  the  water 
and  the  Surrey  hills,  wasting  his  time  seemingly,  by 
drawing  that  rather  paltry  looking  little  plant  stuck  up 
there  on  the  top  of  the  Hoodoo.  Even  if  it  was  the 
emblem  of  marriage  she  could  not  help  a  subtle  feeling 
of  annoyance  that  he  should  not  use  his  precious  time  a 
bit  better. 

However,  the  cream  of  the  joke  was  to  follow. 

The  artist  it  was  who  quaintly  burst  this  fresh  bubble 
of  silence.  "Talk  as  much  as  you  like,  Miss  June,"  he 
said  with  something  a  little  odd,  a  little  unexpected  in 
his  manner,  "but  I  hope  you'll  keep  your  hands  in  your 
lap  just  as  they  are  now,  and  if  you  don't  mind  will 
you  please  bring  your  chin  round  a  bit — on  to  a  level 
with  my  finger." 

"Please  get  on  with  that  myrtle."  Before,  however, 
the  fiat  was  really  pronounced,  she  abruptly  stopped. 
Could  such  a  thing  be?  Was  it  possible  that  he  was 
not  drawing  the  myrtle  at  all? 

It  was  more  than  possible. 

And  that  was  the  cream  of  the  whole  matter ! 


LXIII 

"T'M  not  half  as  good  looking  as  that,"  said  June. 
"All  depends,  don't  you  know,  on  the  angle 
at  which  one  happens  to  get  you,"  said  William. 

It  was  the  tone  of  a  gentleman  in  the  Blues  speaking 
to  Miss  Babraham.  Yet  it  came  so  pat  and  so  natural 
from  the  lips  of  an  artist,  that  in  spite  of  herself,  June 
could  not  help  being  a  little  awed  by  it.  She  didn't 
agree,  yet  she  didn't  disagree;  that  is  to  say,  as  Miss 
Babraham  would  have  done,  she  agreed  to  disagree 
without  contradicting  the  artist  flatly. 

Besides  it  is  the  whole  duty  of  an  artist  to  know  just 
how  people  look  in  all  circumstances.  Everybody  looks 
better  at  some  moments  than  at  others.  June  had  no 
pretensions  to  be  considered  an  artist  herself,  but  at 
that  moment  she  knew  just  how  William  looked.  In 
his  new  suit,  neat  rather  than  smart  and  smart  rather 
than  neat — all  depends  don't  you  know  on  the  angle 
at  which  one  happened  to  get  it ! — with  his  mop  of  fair 
hair  brushed  away  from  his  fine  forehead,  and  his 
yellow  tie,  and  the  curves  of  that  sensitive  mouth,  and 
those  wonderful  eyes  and  those  slim  fingers,  he  looked 
fitted  by  nature  to  marry  a  real  lady.  Indeed,  in  the 
course  of  the  last  few  days,  a  suspicion  had  crossed 
June's  mind  that  Miss  Babraham  thought  so  too ;  thus 
the  apparition  of  the  Honourable  Barrington  and  the 
definite  fixing  of  the  day  had  taken  a  load  off  her 
mind. 

For  all  that  other  loads  were  still  upon  it.  Since  her 
316 


THE   VAN   ROON  317 

nerve-storm  in  the  Long  Gallery  a  week  had  passed. 
She  was  feeling  much  better  now,  day  by  day  she  was 
growing  stronger ;  nevertheless  she  was  troubled  about 
many  things. 

Foremost  of  these  was  the  question  so  vital  to  a 
practical  mind,  of  ways  and  means.  They  both  had 
to  live.  And  if  William  had  really  made  up  his  mind 
to  be  an  artist,  he  would  need  money  and  plenty  of 
it  for  leisure  and  study  and  foreign  travel.  She  was 
rather  glad,  if  only  for  this  reason,  that  he  had  been 
able  to  take  such  a  bold  decision.  He  would  be  the 
more  likely  to  accept  that  which  really  belonged  to 
him:  the  price  of  the  Van  Roon. 

Sir  Arthur  had  now  informed  her  that  the  sum  the 
committee  proposed  to  offer  for  the  Van  Roon  could 
be  invested  to  produce  a  thousand  a  year  free  of  tax, 
and  he  strongly  urged  its  acceptance,  as  she  would  be 
relieved  of  all  money  difficulties  for  the  rest  of  her 
life.  To  June  it  sounded  fabulous.  She  knew  in  her 
heart,  besides,  that  she  would  never  be  able  to  take  this 
income  for  her  own  use.  Every  penny  was  William's 
and  the  task  now  before  her  was  to  bring  home  to 
him  this  fact. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  prove  to  her  this  morning  that 
she  was  attempting  the  impossible.  The  thousand  a 
year,  he  declared,  was  hers  and  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  touch  a  penny.  Yielding  in  some  ways,  in  others 
as  she  had  discovered  already,  for  all  his  gentleness 
he  was  a  rock. 

Desperation  now  drove  June  to  confess  that  she  had 
never  intended  to  take  the  money.  Even  at  the  mo- 
ment she  had  filched  the  Van  Roon  from  him  with  her 
wicked  pretences,  at  the  back  of  her  mind  had  been 


318  THE   VAN   ROON 

the  wish  to  save  him  from  himself.  Always  she  had 
regarded  herself  as  the  Van  Roon's  trustee,  so  that  he 
should  not  be  victimized  by  the  cunning  of  Uncle  Si, 
just  as  Sir  Arthur  was  its  trustee  now,  so  that  neither 
of  them  should  be  robbed  by  the  cunning  of  the  world. 

She  found  all  too  soon,  however,  that  it  was  vain 
to  argue  with  him.  What  he  had  given,  he  had  given. 
As  far  as  he  was  concerned,  that  was  the  end  of  the 
whole  matter. 

"Very  well  then,"  said  June  vexedly,  "if  you  won't, 
you  won't.  And  I  shall  present  that  picture  to  the 
nation  in  your  name,  and  then  you  won't  have  a  penny 
to  live  on  and  you'll  have  to  go  on  working  in  a  shop 
all  your  life  for  a  small  wage  to  make  other  people 
rich,  instead  of  being  able  to  study  and  travel  and  make 
yourself  a  great  artist." 

She  felt  sure  the  half  nelson  was  on  him  now.  Even 
he,  dreamer  that  he  was,  must  really  bend  to  the  force 
of  pure  reasoning !  Beyond  a  doubt  she  had  got  him. 
But  he  was  not  playing  quite  fair  it  seemed.  With 
one  of  his  little  dancing  blushes  that  would  have  been 
deadly  in  a  girl,  he  was  forced  to  own  that  he  had  not 
put  all  his  cards  on  the  table. 

To  June's  sheer  amazement  he  was  keeping  a  little 
matter  of  twelve  hundred  a  year  or  so  up  his  sleeve. 

"Didn't  know  you  had  a  rich  aunt,"  said  June 
amazedly. 

"Not  my  rich  aunt.  Your  rich  uncle."  The  odd 
creature  grew  tawnier,  more  girl-like  than  ever. 

June  lacking  a  clue  as  yet  could  only  frown.  "Come 
again.  I  don't  get  you."  It  was  not  the  Miss  Babra- 
ham  idiom,  but  with  her  patience  giving  out  and  a 
new  strength  and  sanity  in  her  veins,  she  was  in  danger 


THE   VAN    ROON  319 

of  forgetting,  just  for  a  moment,  that  she  was  an 
honoured  guest  in  the  most  famous  Italian  garden  in 
Surrey. 

Nevertheless  in  the  very  height  of  the  eclipse  a  light 
shone.  One  of  the  advantages  of  a  mind  really  practi- 
cal is,  that  when  it  turns  to  financial  matters,  it  works 
automatically  at  very  high  pressure.  June's  brow  was 
cleft  with  the  harrow  of  thought.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say,"  she  figured  slowly  out,  "that  Uncle  Si  has  left 
you  all  his  property?" 

"His  lawyers  say  so."  The  voice  of  William  had 
a  slight  tremor. 

"If  his  lawyers  say  so  it  is  so,"  said  June  with  im- 
perious finality. 

A  pause  of  which  a  thrush,  a  blackbird  and  an  entire 
orchestra  of  skylarks  took  great  advantage,  came  upon 
these  inheritors  in  spite  of  themselves ;  and  then  June 
pensively  remarked,  a  little  in  the  manner  of  "Mr. 
Leopold"  asking  the  Head  Cashier  what  Consols  had 
opened  at  this  morning,  "he  must  have  bought  some 
property  very  lucky." 

Quite  simply  William  stated  that  such  was  the  fact. 
"The  lawyers  say  that  in  1895  he  bought  what  they  call 
a  block  in  New  Cross  Street,  including  Number  46, 
and  that  it's  being  going  up  and  up  ever  since,  so  that 
now  it's  worth  about  eight  times  what  he  gave  for  it." 

In  sheer  incredulity  June  stared  at  him.  She  must 
be  living  in  fairyland.  And  then  the  sun  flamed  out 
from  the  merest  apology  for  a  cloud  which  was  all  the 
April  sky  could  boast  at  that  moment  and  there  came 
an  answering  gleam  from  the  burnished  image  before 
her  eyes  in  which  they  had  lately  planted  a  myrtle. 

"Much  good  it  did  him,"  she  said  with  a  heavy  sigh. 


320  THE   VAN   ROON 

William  never  told  June  the  story  of  the  old  man 
lying  dead  before  the  Hoodoo,  nor  had  he  disclosed  his 
own  indirect  share  in  that  tragic  end.  He  did  not  do 
so  now,  for  this  was  not  the  time  to  enter  into  such  an 
unhappy  matter.  Yet  without  coming  to  details,  June 
seemed  with  that  power  of  clairvoyance  she  had  lately 
acquired,  to  divine  the  whole  pitiful  business.  "Miser- 
able old  miser,"  she  said  in  a  voice  the  birds  could  not 
hear.  "He  must  have  died  like  a  dog." 

William's  tragic  eyes  could  only  be  interpreted  by 
his  own  heart. 

A  look  so  forlorn  led  June  to  notice  the  new  lines 
in  his  face  and  his  smouldering  depth  of  eye.  "I  be- 
lieve you  were  the  only  living  thing  he  ever  cared  for, 

and  yet  it  used  to  make  my  blood  boil  the  way  he " 

The  anguish  in  his  eyes  brought  her  up  short. 

In  went  the  sun,  as  quickly  as  it  had  come  out. 
La  Signora  Aprile  e  volubile,  in  England  at  any  rate, 
whatever  her  mood  in  more  genial  climes.  June  shiv- 
ered slightly  as  if  a  chill  breath  in  the  gentle  wind  had 
touched  her.  She  glanced  at  the  new  wrist  watch, 
whose  acceptance  William  had  craved  two  days  before 
she  left  the  Hospital.  Nearly  one  o'clock  already  and 
it  would  never  do  to  shew  disrespect  to  Mrs.  Chrystal's 
famous  chicken-broth. 

They  got  up  together,  yet  as  they  did  so  they  felt 
that  the  best  of  the  spring  day  was  fled.  Now  that  the 
sun  had  gone  in,  the  Hoodoo  yonder  was  monarch 
once  more  of  all  he  looked  upon. 

What  a  thing  life  was !  Yet  by  now  both  were  wise 
enough  not  to  think  too  much  about  it.  God  knew  it 
could  be  ugly,  but  dwelling  upon  its  complexities  only 
made  them  seem  worse. 


THE   VAN   ROON  321 

Besides  there  was  no  time  for  deep  thoughts.  It 
was  six  minutes  to  one.  Luncheon  at  the  House,  where 
William,  as  became  a  man  of  acknowledged  genius,  was 
an  honoured  guest,  was  sharp  at  the  hour.  The  hon- 
oured guest  would  only  just  have  time  to  wash  his 
hands  and  brush  his  hair.  And  so  he  was  not  able  to 
accompany  June  along  the  rectangular  path  which  led 
from  the  main  avenue  direct  to  Mrs.  Chrystal's. 

Moreover  she  didn't  want  him  to.  She  understood 
his  hurry.  Also  he  understood  hers.  Besides  each 
craved  a  moment,  after  all,  to  consider  life  and  just 
where  they  stood  in  it. 

"I  have  to  rest  this  afternoon,"  said  June.  "And  I 
suppose  you  have  to  get  on  with  the  cleaning  of  the 
Mathew  Thingamy.  But  if  it's  as  fine  to-morrow 
morning  as  it  has  been  to-day,  let  us  meet  under  this 
tree  about  eleven.  And  then  you  can  put  in  the  last 
touches  while  I  read  "Pride  and  Prejudice"  by  Jane 
Eliot  that  Miss  Babraham's  lent  me.  Seems  a  bit  old- 
fashioned,  but  it's  classic  of  course.  I  dare  say  it'll 
improve  as  it  gets  better." 

Whereon  June  took  the  bypath  abruptly,  and  Will- 
iam, his  six  minutes  reduced  to  four,  stepped  out  to- 
wards the  House.  Life  and  its  complexities  did  not 
get  therefore,  much  of  a  show  at  the  moment,  yet  both 
of  them  must  have  been  giving  these  high  matters  some 
little  thought,  for  as  June  reached  the  eucalyptus  tree 
she  halted  and  half-turned  and  looked  just  for  one  in- 
stant back.  And  she  found  that  William,  now  on  a 
level  with  the  second  Cupid  on  the  main  gravel,  and  his 
four  minutes  reduced  to  three  and  a  quarter,  had  also 
halted,  and  half-turned  to  follow  her  example. 


LXIV 

JUNE  always  maintained  that  the  Idea  was  William's. 
He,  on  the  other  hand,  always  maintained  that  the 
Idea  was  hers.  But  whatever  the  truth  of  the  matter 
in  its  centrality,  there  was  really  no  doubt  that  it  was 
Miss  Babraham  who  thought  of  the  car.  To  her  alone 
belonged  that  minor  yet  still  substantial  glory.  As  for 
the  luncheon  basket,  although  that  honour  was  claimed 
for  her  as  well,  it  may  have  owed  something  to  Sir 
Arthur,  for  June  and  William  were  agreed  that  the 
weighty  and  practical  genius  of  that  man  of  the  world 
was  visible  in  this  important  detail. 

It  was  just  after  nine  on  as  promising  a  morning  of 
early  May  as  the  much  and  justly  derided  climate  of 
Britain  was  able  to  produce  for  a  signal  occasion,  when 
Mr.  Mitchell  the  chauffeur  in  his  livery  of  Robin  Hood 
green,  with  buff  collar  and  cuffs,  arrived  at  Mrs. 
Chrystal's  door  with  Sir  Arthur's  touring  car.  In- 
side, as  if  to  the  manner  born,  sat  William  in,  a 
fleecy  grey  ulster  which  June  had  no  idea  he  possessed 
— and  for  that  matter  it  was  Sir  Arthur  who  possessed 
it — and  almost  the  last  word  in  hats,  which  if  you  hap- 
pened to  catch  its  wearer  in  profile,  as  June  chanced 
to  do  at  the  moment  the  car  drew  up,  made  him  look 
uncommonly  distinguished. 

But  so  much  depends,  don't  you  know,  in  these  little 
matters  upon  the  angle — etc. 

'What  time  do  you  expect  to  be  back,  Mr.  Mitchell  ?" 
322 


THE    VAN    ROON  323 

asked  Mrs.  Chrystal  from  her  doorstep,  as  that  hero, 
a  wisdom-bitten  veteran  of  the  Great  War,  which  had 
ended  before  William  began — that  is  to  say  Class  1920 
was  never  called  up — ushered  June  into  the  chariot 
with  rare  solemnity. 

"Back  did  you  say,  ma'am?"  said  Mr.  Mitchell  clos- 
ing the  door  gently  upon  the  travellers.  "There  you 
have  me.  We've  to  go  as  fur  as  the  heart  o'  Suffolk 
and  back  again." 

Mrs.  Chrystal  knew  that.    Hence  the  question. 

"Accordin'  to  this  map,"  Mr.  Mitchell  pointed  to 
the  canvas  back  of  Road  Guide  Number  6,  Series  14, 
which  was  on  the  vacant  seat  beside  his  own,  "Crowd- 
ham  Market  may  take  a  bit  o'  findin'.  Still  if  the 
roads  are  all  right,  I  dessay  we'll  be  home  by  the  risin' 
o'  the  moon." 

"My  reason  for  asking  is  that  I'm  wondering  about 
the  young  lady's  supper.  However,  I'll  expect  you 
when  I  see  you,  because  as  you  say  Crowdham  Market 
may  be  a  funny  place  to  get  at." 

In  the  opinion  of  June,  who  heard  this  conversation, 
Mrs.  Chrystal  was  fully  justified  in  thinking  so.  They 
were  about  to  start  on  a  journey  to  Cloud  Cuckoo 
Land. 

A  very  romantic  journey  it  was.  Up  hill  and  down 
dale  they  went,  by  devious  lanes  and  unsuspected  ways 
across  a  noble  sweep  of  country.  Zephyrs  played  gently 
upon  their  faces;  the  sun  shone,  the  birds  sang;  the 
smooth-gliding  car  made  little  dust  and  less  noise ;  they 
sat  side  by  side ;  it  was  a  royal  progress. 

The  Idea  itself  was  William's,  June  always  main- 
tained, that  they  should  go  to  Crowdham  Market  and 
find  the  poor  old  woman  who  kept  the  tumbledown 


324  THE   VAN   ROON 

shop,  where  perhaps  as  much  out  of  pity  as  anything, 
he  had  given  five  shillings  for  the  Van  Roon.  They 
could  well  afford  to  make  her  comfortable  for  life  with 
an  annuity,  the  precise  amount  of  which  Sir  Arthur 
might  be  asked  to  fix  if  they  could  not  themselves 
agree  upon  it.  Indeed  the  whole  question  of  the  Van 
Roon's  fabulous  proceeds  was  still  vexed.  Neither 
would  move  an  inch.  June  still  vowed  she  would  not 
touch  the  money.  William  vowed  that  he  would  not 
touch  it  either,  but  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  suggest  that 
he  should  buy  the  thing  back  from  her  with  a  part  of  the 
property  her  uncle  had  left  him.  To  this  property  he 
somehow  felt  he  had  no  lawful  claim ;  yet  by  means  of 
it  he  would  be  able  to  add,  free  gratis  and  for  nothing, 
one  masterpiece  the  more  to  "his  treasure  house"  in 
Trafalgar  Square. 

June,  with  the  frankness  for  which  she  was  famous, 
did  not  hesitate  to  denounce  the  scheme  as  crazy.  Even 
the  Sir  Arthur  Babrahams  of  the  world,  who  were 
simply  rolling  in  money,  thought  twice  about  giving 
fortunes  away.  What  did  he  suppose  was  going  to 
become  of  his  career  as  an  artist  if  he  stripped  himself 
of  the  means  of  pursuing  it? 

That,  of  course,  was  where  she  had  him.  And  as 
they  sat  side  by  side  on  this  golden  journey  to  East 
Anglia,  they  divided  the  forenoon  between  admiring 
the  scenery  and  discussing  the  problem  in  all  its  aspects. 

"You  talk  of  France  and  Spain  and  Italy."  The 
note  of  scorn  was  mellowed  considerably  by  the  ro- 
mance of  the  occasion.  "You  talk  of  studying  the  pic- 
tures in  the  Louvre  and  the  Prado  and  the  Ufiizi  Gal- 
lery." She  had  really  got  to  grips  with  Culture  now. 
With  an  indomitable  will,  an  inflexible  ambition  and 


THE   VAN   ROON  325 

a  brand  new  course  of-  memory  training  to  help  herj 
she  was  not  only  learning  to  remember  outlandish 
words,  but  how  and  when  and  in  what  order  to  use 
them.  "You  talk  of  Rembrandt  and  Titian  and 
Velasky,  but  I'm  thinking  those  foreign  landladies'll 
get  your  size  before  you  can  say  Knife.  My  opinion 
is  you'll  need  somebody  always  with  you  to  see  that 
they  don't  take  it  off  you." 

"Take  what  off  me,  Miss  June?"  inquired  His 
Innocence. 

There  was  a  question ! 

"Your  pram,  of  course,  your  teddy  bear,  and  your 
feeding  bottle."  She  added  the  opprobrious  term  "You 
Gaby!"  not  however  for  the  ear  of  this  Dreamer,  but 
for  the  benefit  of  the  pleasant  town  of  Maiden,  on 
whose  outskirts  they  were  already. 

"When  you  get  to  Paris  and  find  yourself  in  the 
Prado  studying  Paul  Very-uneasy,  you'll  be  lucky  if 
you  get  away  with  as  much  as  a  bootlace.  Mr.  Boultby 
used  to  say  French  landladies  were  awful." 

"Did  he,"  said  the  Dreamer ;  and  then  with  a  sudden 
animation:  "Do  you  see  that  water  wagtail  on  the  lip 
of  that  pool?" 

June  pointedly  ignored  the  water  wagtail. 

"You  ought  to  have  somebody  to  look  after  you 
when  you  go  to  Paris — somebody  who  understands 
the  value  of  money." 

"The  less  value  money  has  for  an  artist  the  better/* 
said  William  the  sententious. 

"Mr.  Boultby  would  call  that  poppycock,"  said  June, 
equally  sententious.  * 

What  William  really  meant  to  say  was  that  the  less 
fcn  artist  thought  about  money  the  better  for  his  art, 


326  THE   VAN    ROON 

that  an  artist  painted  better  for  love  than  for  filthy 
lucre  and  so  on,  that  the  great  masters  were  born  poor 
as  a  rule  and  often  died  poor  and  that  nothing  was  so 
likely  as  money  to  distract  the  mind  from  the  quest 
of  beauty. 

These,  to  be  sure,  were  not  his  exact  words.  His 
thoughts  were  clothed  more  neatly  in  the  William  way. 
But  such  was  the  sum  and  substance  of  what  they  came 
down  to,  and  June  was  so  pained  by  his  line  of  argu- 
ment that  the  contents  of  the  luncheon  basket  on  the 
opposite  seat  were  needed  to  sustain  her. 

After  patiently  reasoning  with  such  wrong-headed- 
ness,  she  looked  at  her  watch  and  found  it  was  one 
o'clock.  As  there  was  never  a  sign  at  present  of 
Crowdham  Market,  they  decided  to  begin  on  what  the 
gods  had  provided.  Egg  and  tomato  sandwiches  were 
at  the  top  of  the  basket  with  a  layer  of  ham  under- 
neath, and  below  that  a  most  authentic  cake  with 
almonds  in  it;  all  of  which  were  delicious. 

The  meal,  if  anything,  was  even  better  than  the 
conversation,  though  that  also  was  on  an  extremely 
high  level.  They  were  very  honourable  in  their  deal- 
ings with  the  luncheon  basket.  Share  and  share  alike 
was  the  order  of  the  day,  with  a  third  share  of  every- 
thing religiously  laid  by  for  Mr.  Mitchell  whenever  he 
might  feel  justified  in  slowing  up  to  eat  it.  Even  a 
full  third  of  the  basket's  crowning  glory  was  laid  by 
for  Mr.  Mitchell — to  wit,  a  large  vacuum  flask  of 
coffee,  piping  hot. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  two  when  they  reached 
Crowdham  Market  and  drew  up  at  the  Unicorn  Inn. 
Here,  six  months  ago,  William  had  discussed  the  great 
drought  with  Miss  Ferris,  the  landlady's  daughter,  one 


THE   VAN    ROON  327 

of  those  high-coloured  girls  who  June  could  see  at  a 
glance  was  a  minx. 

Promising  to  be  back  in  an  hour,  which  was  all  that 
Mr.  Mitchell  could  allow  if  they  were  to  be  home  before 
the  rising  of  the  moon,  June  and  William,  feeling  more 
romantic  than  ever  before  in  their  lives,  set  out  on  a 
pilgrimage  up  the  High  Street.  It  was  the  only  street 
in  the  town  which  aspired  to  a  sense  of  importance ; 
the  point  in  fact  towards  which  all  meaner  streets  con- 
verged. One  of  these  it  was  they  had  now  to  find. 

Alas,  from  the  outset  there  was  a  grave  doubt  in  the 
mind  of  William  in  the  matter  of  his  bearings.  To  the 
best  of  his  recollection  the  old  woman's  shop  was  either 
the  second  or  third  turning  up,  then  to  the  left,  then 
across,  and  then  to  the  left  again  into  an  obscure  alley 
of  which  he  had  forgotten  the  name.  That  was  like 
him.  In  June's  private  opinion,  it  was  also  like  him, 
although  lese-majeste  of  course,  to  let  him  know  it,  to 
take  her  to  look  for  a  serendipity  shop  in  a  bottle  of 
hay. 

William  knew  neither  the  name  of  the  old  woman, 
nor  the  byway  that  had  contained  her,  and  in  the 
course  of  half  an  hour's  meandering  it  grew  clear  to 
the  practical  mind  of  June  that  she  was  in  serious 
danger  of  having  to  go  without  her  annuity.  Having 
come  so  far  it  would  be  humiliating  to  return  with  a 
tale  of  total  defeat;  yet  up  till  now  these  emotions  had 
been  held  in  check  by  the  romance  of  the  case. 

Mr.  Mitchell's  hour  was  all  but  sped,  when  William 
stopped  abruptly.  Light  had  come.  He  had  hit  the 
trail. 

At  the  corner  of  the  lane  into  which  for  the  third 
time  they  had  penetrated,  was  an  enticing  little  shop 


528  THE  VAN   ROON 

called  Middleton's  Dairy.  The  sight  of  it  brought  back 
to  William's  mind  a  recollection.  Immediately  the  pic- 
ture had  been  acquired,  he  went  into  that  shop  to  get 
a  bun  and  a  glass  of  milk.  Pausing  a  moment  to 
wrestle  with  his  sense  of  locality,  he  gazed  down  the 
street.  The  old  woman's  store  would  be  just  opposite. 

Only  a  glance  was  needed  to  show  that  the  old 
woman's  store  was  not  just  opposite.  The  housebreak- 
ers had  been  recently  at  work  and  the  decrepit  block 
of  which  her  premises  formed  a  part  was  razed  to  the 
ground. 

Faced  by  the  problem  of  what  had  happened  to  the 
old  woman  the  only  thing  now  was  to  enter  Middle- 
ton's  Dairy  and  enquire.  They  were  cordially  received 
by  a  girl  who  in  June's  opinion  showed  too  many  teeth 
when  she  smiled  to  be  really  good  looking ;  who,  also, 
in  June's  opinion,  wore  corsets  that  didn't  suit  her 
figure,  and  whose  hair  would  have  looked  better  had 
it  been  bobbed. 

Like  Miss  Ferris,  the  landlady's  daughter,  this  girl 
seemed  to  remember  William  quite  well,  which  was 
rather  odd  June  felt,  since  he  had  only  been  once  in 
the  town  previously  and  then  for  but  a  few  hours.  The 
inference  to  be  drawn  from  the  fact  was  that  William 
was  William,  and  that  in  an  outlandish  one-horse  place 
like  Crowdham  Market,  young  men  of  his  quality  were 
necessarily  at  a  premium. 

But  at  the  moment  that  was  neither  here  nor  there. 
And  with  equal  truth  the  formula  applied  to  the  old 
woman.  However,  in  regard  to  her  it  seemed,  they 
were  now  in  the  way  of  getting  information. 

After  William,  with  a  certain  particularity  had  de- 
scribed the  old  creature  and  her  shop  to  the  girl  who 


THE   VAN   ROON  329 

kept  on  showing  her  teeth  while  he  did  so,  he  was  in- 
formed that  she  was  known  among  the  neighbours  as 
Mother  Stark.  And  the  poor  old  thing,  the  girl  under- 
stood, had  been  turned  out  of  house  and  home  because 
she  could  no  longer  pay  her  rates  and  taxes. 

"Half  her  side  of  the  Lane's  pulled  down,"  said 
June,  who  now  came  into  the  conversation  on  a  note 
of  slight  asperity. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Smiler,  to  William  rather  than 
to  June,  "the  site  has  been  bought  by  a  company." 

"Putting  a  museum  on  it  I  suppose,"  said  June. 

"No,  not  a  museum,"  said  Miss  Smiler  in  a  level 
voice  ignoring  June's  irony  either  because  she  did  not 
see  it,  or  because  she  did,  which  in  any  case  perhaps 
was  just  as  well  for  her. 

"A  chicken  run?"  June  surmised  with  a  disdainful 
eye  upon  a  nice  basket  of  new  laid  eggs,  five  for  a 
shilling. 

No,  the  site  had  not  been  acquired  for  a  chicken  run. 
Miss  Smiler  understood  they  were  going  to  build  a 
picture  house. 

June  gazed  solemnly  at  William.  And  her  gaze  was 
frankly  and  faithfully  returned.  A  picture  house  on 
the  spot  where  a  Van  Roon  had  lain  hidden  and  un- 
known for  who  knew  how  many  years ! 

What  a  world  it  was !  Could  Mother  Stark  but  have 
guessed  she  would  not  have  needed  a  Company  to  take 
over  her  premises. 

"What's  become  of  her?  Can  you  tell  us?"  said 
June. 

"Had  to  go  to  the  Workhouse,  I  believe,  poor  soul," 
said  the  girl,  who  had  a  good  heart. 

June  looked  at  William.     William  looked  at  June. 


330  THE   VAN    ROOM 

"Is  the  Workhouse  far  from  here — please  can  you 
tell  us?"  It  was  William  who  asked  the  question. 

The  Workhouse,  it  seemed,  was  not  far.  In  fact 
it  was  quite  near.  To  get  there  you  had  only  to  go  to 
the  end  of  the  lane,  turn  to  the  left,  cross  the  recreation 
ground  and  the  footbridge  over  the  canal,  and  keep  on 
bearing  to  the  left  and  you  couldn't  miss  it. 

"Will  it  take  long  ?"  The  question  was  June's.  And 
a  glance  at  her  wrist  accompanied  it. 

"Not  more  than  five  minutes." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed.  We  are  greatly 
obliged  to  you."  William  it  was  who  brought  the  con- 
versation to  a  climax  with  a  lift  of  the  hat. 


LXV 

THERE  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done  now.  Mr. 
Mitchell's  hour  was  up,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  The  Workhouse,  as  the  girl  had  said — she  might, 
in  June's  opinion  have  had  a  claim  to  good  looks  if  she 
had  not  suffered  from  "a  rush  of  teeth  to  the  head" — 
was  not  more  than  five  minutes  away  if  you  followed 
her  instructions. 

As  June  had  the  matter  in  hand,  the  instructions 
were  followed  to  the  letter  and  they  arrived  at  the 
Workhouse  without  delay.  But  as  the  pile,  dark  and 
grim,  came  into  view  at  the  far  side  of  the  canal,  an 
odd  emotion  suddenly  brought  them  up  with  a  round 
turn. 

A  long  moment  they  gazed  at  the  bleak  and  frowning 
thing  before  their  eyes.  And  then  June  said  with  a 
laugh,  "I'm  thinking  that's  where  you'll  be  one  day, 
if  you  don't  find  someone  who  isn't  a  genius  to  look 
after  you." 

The  words  came  from  the  heart,  yet  William  did 
not  appear  to  hear  them.  "Reminds  one,"  he  mur- 
mured half  to  himself,  "of  that  little  thing  of  Du- 
claux's  called  The  Poor  House." 

June's  puzzlement  was  revealed  by  a  frown. 

"There's  an  exhibition  of  his  pictures  just  now  at 
331 


332  THE   VAN   ROON 

the  Bond  Street  Gallery.  Wonderful  line.  A  great 
sense  of  mass  effect." 

"You  can't  tell  me,"  said  June,  "there's  beauty  in  a 
thing  like  that — in  that  old  Workhouse?" 

"Duclaux  would  say  so,  with  that  dark  gloud  cutting 
across  the  gable.  And  that  bend  of  the  Canal  in  the 
foreground  is  not  without  value."  He  smiled  his  rare 
smile  which  never  had  looked  so  divine.  But  June  was 
a  little  afraid  of  it  now.  She  kept  her  eyes  the  other 
way. 

"Canal,"  she  said  with  brevity.  "Not  without  value. 
I  should  say  so.  As  we  say  at  Blackhampton,  'where 
there's  muck  there's  money/  " 

She  glanced  at  her  wrist  again.  Another  ten  minutes 
credited  now  to  Mr.  Mitchell's  account. 

"Duclaux,  I  suppose,  would  see  it  this  way."  The 
queer  fellow  stepped  back  two  paces,  put  up  his  hand 
to  shade  his  eyes  and  adjust  his  vision  to  look  at  the 
Workhouse. 

This  was  Pure  Pottiness,  the  concentrated  essence  in 
tabloid  form.  However,  Miss  Babraham  had  already 
impressed  upon  June  the  deep  truth  that  genius  must 
be  allowed  a  margin. 

A  little  faint  of  heart  she  rang  the  bell  of  the  gloomy 
and  forbidding  door.  The  summons  was  heeded, 
tardily  and  with  reluctance,  by  its  janitor,  a  surly 
male. 

"Can  we  see  Mrs.  Stark?"  asked  June. 

"Eh?"  said  the  janitor.  He  must  have  been  deaf 
indeed  not  to  have  heard  the  question  in  its  cool  clarity. 
June  repeated  it ;  whereon  the  keeper  of  the  door  looked 
her  slowly  up  and  down,  turning  over  the  name  in  his 
mind  as  he  did  so. 


THE   VAN   ROON  333 

"Mother  Stark  she  was  called,"  said  June,  for  his 
further  enlightenment.  "She  sold  all  kinds  of  old  rub- 
bish at  a  shop  that  used  to  be  opposite  Middleton's 
Dairy  at  the  top  of  Love  Lane." 

"Mother  Stark  you  say !"  Light  was  coming  to  the 
janitor.  "No,  you  can't  see  her." 

"Why  not  ?    The  matter's  important." 

"She's  been  in  her  grave  this  two  month — that's  why 
not,"  said  the  janitor. 

"Oh,"  said  June ;  and  then  after  brief  commerce  with 
the  eye  of  William:  "Has  she  any  relations  or  friends?" 

The  answer  was  no.  Mother  Stark  had  had  a  parish 
burial. 

William  thanked  Diogenes  with  that  courtesy  which 
was  never-failing  and  inimitable;  and  then  after  one 
more  swift  glance  at  each  other,  they  turned  away, 
feeling  somehow,  a  little  overcome,  yet  upheld  by  the 
knowledge  of  being  through  at  last  with  the  matter  of 
the  poor  old  thing's  annuity. 

Returning  in  their  tracks  across  the  canal  footbridge, 
across  the  recreation  ground,  up  the  lane,  past  the  site 
of  the  new  picture  house,  past  Middleton's  Dairy,  they 
entered  the  High  Street,  without  haste,  in  spite  of 
Mr.  Mitchell,  and  with  a  gravity  new  and  strange, 
as  if  they  both  felt  now  the  hand  of  destiny  upon 
them. 

Heedless  of  all  the  Mr.  Mitchells  in  the  universe, 
they  walked  very  slowly  to  draw  out  the  last  exquisite 
drop  of  a  moment  of  bliss  that,  no  matter  what  life 
had  in  store,  they  could  never  forget.  And  then  for 
some  mystic  reason,  June's  brain  grew  incandescent.  It 
became  a  thing  of  dew  and  fire.  Ideas  formed  within 
it,  broke  from  it,  took  shape  in  the  ambient  air.  She 


534  THE   VAN    ROON 

might  have  been  treading  the  upper  spaces  of  Elysium, 
except  that  no  girl's  feet  were  ever  planted  more  firmly 
or  more  shrewdly  upon  the  pavement  of  High  Street, 
Crowdham  Market. 

Four  doors  from  the  Unicorn  Inn  was  the  most 
fashionable  jeweller's  shop  in  the  town,  perhaps  for 
the  reason  that  there  was  no  other ;  and  as  they  came 
level  with  the  window  a  spark  flashed  from  its  depths 
and  met  an  instant  answer  in  the  eye  of  June.  Nearly 
an  hour  behind  the  schedule  they  were  now,  yet  they 
lingered  one  moment  more,  while  June  drew  William's 
attention  to  a  coincidence.  The  vital  spark  it  seemed, 
owed  its  being  to  a  gem  set  in  a  ring  which  was  almost 
a  replica  of  the  one  worn  by  Miss  Babraham  in  honor 
of  its  giver,  who  of  course  was  a  gentleman  in  the 
Blues. 

"It's  as  like  Miss  Babraham's  engagement  ring  as 
one  pea  is  like  another  pea,"  said  June  in  a  soft  voice. 

In  the  course  of  their  friendship,  William  had  been 
guilty  of  many  silences  of  a  disgraceful  impersonality; 
and  he  was  now  guilty  of  one  more.  He  glanced  at 
the  ring  with  a  wistful  eye,  sighed  a  little,  and  then 
with  slow  reluctance  moved  on.  June  accompanied 
him  to  the  very  threshold  of  the  Unicorn  Inn.  And 
upon  its  doorstep  of  all  places,  within  hearing  of  the 
Office,  wherein  lurked  Miss  Ferris,  the  landlady's 
daughter,  he  faced  about,  and  then  by  way  of  an  after- 
thought, his  head  apparently  still  full  of  Duclaux,  be- 
gan to  stammer. 

"Miss  June  if  I  go  back  and  get  that  ring  will  you — 
will  you  promise — to — to—?" 

Miss  Ferris  was  in  the  Office ;  the  top  of  her  coiffure 
was  to  be  seen  above  the  frosted  glass.  And  the  Office 


THE   VAN   ROON  335 

door  was  wide  open ;  June,  therefore,  gave  her  answer 
in  a  very  low  and  gentle  voice. 

Her  answer,  for  all  that,  did  not  lack  pith.  "If  only 
you'll  cut  out  the  Miss,  I'll  wear  it  like  Miss  Babraham 
— on  my  heart  finger." 


LXVI 

BACK  they  went  to  the  jeweller's  four  doors  up. 
To  the  expert  eye  of  William,  the  ring  on  inspec- 
tion was  so  little  like  Miss  Babraham's  that  he  seemed 
to  have  a  qualm  about  buying  it.  He  had  a  fancy  for 
moonstones  and  diamonds,  but  Crowdham  Market's 
only  jeweller  did  not  run  to  these.  June  was  firm,  be- 
sides, that  the  ring  in  her  hand  was  cheap  at  nine 
guineas,  and  as  no  one  could  call  it  vulgar,  it  was 
quite  good  enough. 

William  was  sure  it  was  nothing  like  good  enough. 
"But  when  we  get  to  London,  you  shall  have  moon- 
stones and  diamonds." 

"That'll  be  lovely,"  said  June ;  and  a  deep  thrill  ran 
in  her  heart  as  she  realized  that  her  dreams  were  com- 
ing true. 

William  took  a  wad  of  Bradburys  from  his  breast 
pocket.  He  was  now  a  man  of  property,  with  a  rent 
roll  of  twelve  hundred  a  year,  but  even  a  most  careful 
counting  would  not  let  them  muster  more  than  seven. 
June,  however,  as  became  the  lawful  owner  of  an  Old 
Master,  whom  to  acquire  for  the  nation  a  committee 
had  been  lately  formed,  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 
For  she  promptly  took  a  wad  from  the  vanity  bag 
which  now  graced  her  travels  instead  of  her  mother's 
old  purse,  and  made  up  the  sum. 

In  the  meantime,  the  jeweller,  a  man  of  ripe  experi- 
ence, had  put  two  and  two  together. 
336 


THE   VAN   ROON  337 

"Will  you  wear  it,  madam,  or  will  you  have  it 
packed  in  the  box?" 

An  unconventional  question,  no  doubt,  but  places 
like  Crowdham  Market  are  close  to  nature  and  get 
down  to  bedrock  by  short  cuts. 

"I'll  wear  it,"  June  answered.  "And  I'll  have  the 
box  as  well.  It'll  do  for  my  dressing  table  to  keep 
pins  in." 

The  jeweller,  one  of  the  old  school,  bowed  to  June 
as  he  handed  her  the  box  and  also  the  change.  And 
then,  a  jeweller  with  a  fine  technique,  he  smiled  at 
William  in  a  Masonic  manner  and  handed  him  the 
ring. 

June,  as  cool  as  if  she  was  on  parade,  removed  a 
white  kid  glove  from  her  left  hand.  "That's  the  heart 
finger,"  she  said. 

If  she  blushed  a  little,  the  jeweller  was  too  busy 
writing  out  the  receipt  at  the  other  end  of  the  shop  to 
be  aware  of  the  fact. 


LXVII 

THEY  decided  to  ask  Miss  Ferris,  the  landlady's 
daughter,  for  a  cup  of  tea,  before  they  set  out 
on  the  journey  home.  June  felt  she  could  afford  to 
take  the  risk,  since  by  now  the  situation  was  well  in 
hand.  Mr.  Mitchell  raised  no  objection.  Himself  an 
ampler  man  for  a  noble  lunch,  he  had  been  recounting 
tales  of  Araby  and  lands  of  fair  renown  in  the  privacy 
of  the  Office.  His  suit  of  Robin  Hood  green  and  a 
certain  gallantry  of  bearing  had  made  considerable  im- 
pact in  an  amazingly  short  time,  not  upon  Miss 
Ferris  merely,  but  upon  her  widowed  mother,  the  sole 
proprietress  of  the  Unicorn  Inn,  who  in  the  words  of 
the  local  manager  of  the  East  Anglia  and  Overtons 
Bank  "was  the  warmest  woman  in  Crowdham  Market." 
While  Mr.  Mitchell  (Sergeant,  R.E.,  D.C.M.  with 
clasp),  and  the  widow  were  in  the  garden  admiring  the 
early  pansies,  June  and  William  sat  down  to  tea  in  the 
jepffee  room.  Even  there  the  contiguity  of  Miss  Ferris 
had  rather  a  tendency  to  cramp  June's  style.  High- 
coloured  girl,  she  was  a  little  inclined  to  take  liberties 
as  she  passed  around  the  table.  And  when  June,  in 
her  sweetest  and  best  Miss  Babraham  manner,  asked 
if  they  might  have  some  crab  apple  jam,  she  caught  the 
glint  of  the  ring  on  June's  heart  finger  in  a  way  so 
direct  that  she  murmured  something  about  having  to 
look  out  for  her  eyesight — or  words  equally  ill-bred — 
and  nearly  dropped  the  tea  pot. 
338 


THE   VAN    ROON  339 

By  the  time  they  got  under  way  and  the  nose  of  the 
car  was  set  for  the  pleasant  land  of  Surrey,  a  doubt 
infected  the  mind  of  Mr.  Mitchell  as  to  whether  they 
would  make  Homefield  before  midnight.  Neither 
June  nor  William  seemed  to  care  very  much  whether 
they  did  or  whether  they  didn't.  The  car  was  most 
comfortable,  the  sense  of  romance  hot  upon  them  still, 
the  presence  of  each  other  vital  and  delicious  in  their 
consciousness.  Mile  passed  upon  mile.  The  endless 
spool  of  road  continued  to  unwind  itself,  a  little  wind 
breathed  gentle  nothings,  Mr.  Mitchell  sat  four-square 
in  front,  the  birds  still  sang,  but  the  sun  was  going 
down. 

Saying  very  little,  they  lived  never-to-be-forgotten 
hours.  Now  and  again  William  pointed  to  a  bird  or  a 
tree,  the  fold  of  a  hill,  the  form  of  a  cloud,  the  gleam 
of  a  distant  water.  Yet  for  the  most  part  the  nearness 
of  each  other  was  all  sufficing.  June  began  to  nestle 
closer;  the  chill  of  night  came  on.  Saying  less  than 
ever  now,  moonstones  and  diamonds  stole  upon  her 
thoughts.  She  was  haunted  by  a  lovely  fear  that  she 
could  not  live  up  to  them.  And  then  softly  and  more 
soft,  she  began  to  breathe  with  a  rhythmical  rise  and 
fall,  slowly  deepening  to  a  faint  crescendo  that  blended 
with  the  motions  of  the  car. 

East  by  west  of  nowhere  came  the  high  moment 
when  the  sun  was  not,  and  the  moon  not  yet.  Some- 
where over  Surrey  a  star  was  dancing.  Very  shyly 
and  gently  he  ventured  to  give  her  a  kiss.  She  stirred 
ever  so  little.  A  bird  spoke  from  a  brake,  a  note  clear 
and  wonderful,  yet  the  month  was  young  for  the 
nightingale.  But  this  was  Cloud  Cuckoo  Land,  a 


340  THE   VAN   ROON 

divine  country  in  which  the  nightingale  may  be  heard 
at  odd  seasons. 

Psyche  stirred  again.  With  a  reverence  chaste  and 
simple  he  gave  her  a  second  kiss,  deep  and  slow.  The 
solemn  sacrament  was  fire  to  the  soul  of  an  artist.  And 
then  he  gave  a  little  gasp.  The  high  gods  in  his  brain 
whispered  that  the  moon  was  coming. 

The  moon  was  coming. 

Yes,  there  she  was,  the  sovereign  lady !  He  sat  very 
still,  praying,  praying  that  he  might  surprise  some  holy 
secret,  hidden  even  from  Duclaux. 

She  was  very  wonderful  to-night.  Her  loveliness 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  There  was  a  touch  of 
intimacy  in  her  magic;  the  country  over  which  she 
shone  was  elfland.  He  seemed  to  hear  a  faint  familiar 
sound  of  horns.  Or  it  might  have  been  the  swift 
gliding  of  the  car. 

In  the  quietness  of  the  spirit's  ecstasy  he  could  have 
wept. 

Might  it  be  given  to  Duclaux  to  see  her,  lovely  lady, 
just  as  he  could  see  her  now ! 

But  he  mustn't  dare  to  breathe  or  the  vision  would 
be  forever  lost. 

a) 

THE  END 


NOVELS  BY  J.  C.  SNAITH 


THE  VAN  ROON 

A  remarkable  novel,  human  to  its  very  core,  which 
tells  of  how  a  painting  by  an  old  master,  newly  dis- 
covered, became  a  cause  of  love  and  hate  among  a 
curious  and  delightful  group  of  characters. 

THE  COUNCIL  OF  SEVEN 

International  mystery  in  which  seven  men  come  to 
grips  with  a  war-preaching  newspaper-syndicate.  The 
hero,  typical  Snaith  character,  fights  boldly  against 
strangling  intrigue. 

THE  UNDEFEATED 

"It  is  distinctly  a  big  novel — a  book  of  vision  and  of 
understanding,  of  truth  and  beauty." — New  York  Times. 

"The  simplest  and  straightest  work  imaginable  and 
mightily  impressive." — Washington  Star. 

THE  SAILOR 

"It  is  a  book  that  overwhelms  the  reader  by  the 
poignant  and  magnificent  message  that  it  carries.  It 
is  a  book  that  is  unforgettable." — Springfield  Union. 

"Interpretative,  creative  work  of  a  very  high  order." 
— New  York  Times. 

THE  ADVENTUROUS  LADY 

A  sparkling  social  comedy,  top-full  of  delightful  sit- 
uations and  characters,  seasoned  with  incomparable 
humor  and  youthful  buoyancy. 

THE  TIME  SPIRIT 

"The  verbal  fencing,  sparkling  colloquy  and  keen, 
swift  repartee  alone  raise  the  story  far  above  the  dead 
level  of  society  fiction." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

THE  COMING 

"Mr.  Snaith  handles  his  theme  delicately,  poetically, 
with  a  fine  and  sensitive  reverence." — Independent. 

"It  is  a  daring  performance  of  impressive  and  trium- 
phant strength." — New  York  Tribune. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

N Yew  ork  London 


A  CHOICE  SHELF  OF  NOVELS 


ABBE  PIERRE 

By  JAY  WILLIAM  HUDSON 

This  charming  novel  of  life  in  quaint  Gascony  is 
proving  that  a  novel  that  is  a  work  of  truest  art  can 
be  a  best  seller  of  the  widest  popularity. 

WAY  OF  REVELATION 

By  WILFRID  EWART 

A  realistic  novel  of  the  great  war  which  presents  with 
startling  truth  and  accuracy  the  effect  of  the  conflict 
upon  a  group  of  intensely  interesting  characters. 

THE  MERCY  OF  ALLAH 

By   HILAIRE   BELLOC,   Author   of   "The   Path   to 

Rome,"  etc. 

A  brilliant  and  highly  entertaining  satire  on  modern 
business,  which  tells  of  how  Mahmoud,  by  the  Mercy 
of  Allah  and  his  own  keen  wits,  accumulated  a  vast 
fortune. 

THE  RICH  LITTLE  POOR  BOY 

By  ELEANOR  GATES,  Author  of  "The  Poor  Little 

Rich  Girl,"  etc. 

A  whimsical,  humorous  fantasy  of  a  poor  little  boy's 
search  for  happiness. 

MOTHER 

By   MAXIM   GORKY.     Introduction  by  Charles   Ed- 
ward RusselL 
Wide  interest  is  being  displayed  in  Gorky's  story  of 

Russia  before  the  Revolution. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

New  York  London 


AMONG  THE  NEWEST  NOVELS 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MOHUN 

By  GEORGE  GIBBS,  Author  of  "Youth  Triumphant," 

etc. 

A  distinguished  novel  depicting  present  day  society 
and  its  most  striking  feature,  the  "flapper."  A  story 
of  splendid  dramatic  qualities. 

THE  COVERED  WA£ON 

By  EMERSON  HOUGH,  Author  of  "The  Magnificent 
Adventure,"  "The  Story  of  the  Cowboy,"  etc. 
A  novel  of  the  first  water,  clear  and  clean,  is  this 

thrilling  story  of  the  pioneers,  the  men  and  women  who 

laid  the  foundation  of  the  great  west 

HOMESTEAD  RANCH 

By  ELIZABETH  G.  YOUNG 

The  New  York  Times  says  that  "Homestead  Ranch" 
is  one  of  the  season's  "two  best  real  wild  and  woolly 
western  yarns."  The  Boston  Herald  says,  "So  delight- 
ful that  we  recommend  it  as  one  of  the  best  western 
stories  of  the  year." 

SACRIFICE 

By   STEPHEN   FRENCH   WHITMAN,   Author   of 

"Predestined,"  etc. 

How  a  woman,  spoiled  child  of  New  York  society, 
faced  the  dangers  of  the  African  jungle  trail.  "One 
feels  ever  the  white  heat  of  emotional  conflict." — 
Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

DOUBLE-CROSSED 

By  W.  DOUGLAS  NEWTON,  Author  of  "Low  Ceil- 
ings," etc. 

"An  excellently  written  and  handled  tale  of  adven- 
ture and  thrills  in  the  dark  spruce  valleys  of  Canada." 
— New  York  Times. 

JANE  JOURNEYS  ON 

By  RUTH  COMFORT  MITCHELL,  Author  of  "Play 

the  Game,"  etc. 

The  cheerful  story  of  a  delightful  heroine's  adven- 
tures from  Vermont  to  Mexico. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

New  York  London 


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